I’m the neon rat hiding in the palm trees,
watching midwestern tourists guzzle giant martinis.
We were part time lovers on prime time TV.
Her name was Esmeralda,
the smart but sexy type, a young housewife, in a Hawaiian mansion alright…

Crystal beaches on TV,
perfume dumped into the sea,
bleached smile shaved bikini,
everything you want but will never ever be.
Her husband was a CEO,
she spent her nights all alone,
you fall in love with her misery,
she’s like a tan version of you with plastic surgery.

Enter the sophisticated brute,
with VIP attitude.
He the recurring character you love to hate, the back door boy.
Now I’m the neon rat with a mouth full of grinning sharp dentures.
Sleeping in a married woman’s bedcovers,
a televised affair with million dollar commercials.

Yeah this is the 1-hour holiday special
where Esmeralda’s husband comes home and walks in on the two of us in the shower.
He breaks down in tears on the bathroom floor.
Close up on his face frowning like a slit open throat.
Then cut to a commercial.
Then cut to a commercial.
Then cut to a commercial.
Then cut to a commercial.

Crystal beaches on TV,
sunset on the digital sea,
shaved smile bleached bikini,
paradise’s legs are spread just out of reach.
Those tears streaming down your cheek
are dollar signs for the marketing team.
Will she leave her bland husband?
You just have to wait till the start of next season.
You’ll just have to go back to your job selling lingerie at the shopping mall,
those diets that never work,
those blind dates with fucking jerks.

Crystal Beaches on TV,
Crystal Beaches you’ll never see,
Crystal beaches got you hooked.
And I’m the neon rat inside your pocketbook.