I look under my bed

where my sweetheart likes to sleep

She is laying there all quite

she doesn’t make a peep

She only comes out occasionally

maybe about three times a week

I give her a bit of a wash

and she shines like brand new

She doesn’t look like anybody

Or maybe just a bit like you

I took her shopping the other day

I got a lot of curious glances

Cause my baby squeaks  when she


She has an O for a mouth

So she cant really talk

We couldn’t get home quick enough

My sweetheart crawled under the bed

She looked really sad

and kind of deflated

The next day we decided to try again

We went to the beach

There was a good breeze blowing

and my sweetheart started to float


I tied her down with fishing line

so she didn’t stray.

And still she didn’t have anything to say

She started to squirm and squeak

looking lost and uncomfortable

She had sand in every crevice and crack

We left the beach

and we didn’t go back

We got back home

and we needn’t something to eat

I fed her with a spoon

but she was full

she didn’t have any room

The next day we thought we would

go to the Cinema

What could go wrong inside?

Just then I heard a whistling sound

My  baby was going down on me

And not in the way that you think

She looked at me disparingly

and she started to shrink

Jesus,get me out of here

I need a goddamn drink.

I tucked her under my arm

and made my way to my car

Blue lights flashing in my rear

view mirror

We didn’t get very far.

Mr Policeman knocks on my window

and asks me for my licence

He glances over at my girlfriend

Sitting there all quiet

looking a bit under the weather

And he says’Have I got a licence

for that?’

‘For what?’ I ask.

He said that if you want to own a

plastic sweetheart

You have to pay the price

He said that if I don’t pay

‘How long do you think your secret

will last.’

‘Word around here travels very fast.’

So I handed him $1oo

and we were on our way.

Mr Policeman looked at me

and said ‘Have a nice day.’

On our way home

I stopped to buy some skin tone


We get home and I lock the door with

all three latches.

I don’t want to get interrupted.

My plastic sweetheart

just lays there on the floor.

All untidy and crumpled up

She needs some care a bit of air.

So I am pumping away

getting all sweaty and hot

Come on baby breath that air

so we can jump in the cot.

Nothing seems to be happening

My sweetheart is still deflated

My plastic sweetheart is overrated.

The next morning and the pump has

done its job.

My plastic sweetheart is all full of


Foot loose and fancy free.

I am going to fill her with something

about 10cc.

This cant go on

people are starting to talk

They are saying that my sweetheart

isn’t real.

That she is a fake.

And that she is only after one thing.

And that one thing is a wedding ring.

Come now I am not crazy

I know that after a few beers

I can get kind of hazy.

But I know the difference between

right and wrong.

I know the difference between plastic

and human flesh.

Is it love that I am feeling?

That is mighty debatable.

Cause you see.

My sweetheart is inflatable.