Mean Streets of Seattle

Keep driving sir, and keep walking
Though my sneakers pound rhythm
What you hear is different than what they say.
Keep walking
Keep driving
I am not some hot-pantsed low-cut whore
Strutting the streets in stacked heels
and stacked chest.
I am not like these ethnic girls
saucily sauntering past
that you are eyeing
These are not my streets
With my blonde hair and
Striped sweater.
I just wanted a pack of smokes
Luckies if the Shell had them
Though luck is never with me in that regard.
Because you refuse
to keep walking
And keep driving.
You keep talking to me.
I don't want to talk.
You don't want to buy me dinner.
I know what you're after,
On these mean streets after dark.
(I am not the girl you're looking for)