(With apologies to Jenny Joseph. Call me, Babe. We'll do lunch.)
When I am a movie star I shall wear Prada
With a red wrist string for which I tithed a fortune at the Centre.
And I shall spend my advances on shooters at Spider Club
And candles that smell like God.
I shall sit down in Wolfgang’s
And gobble up salads with Nicole or Ashton
And compulsively check Defamer.com
To see if my lunch pics are featured
And make up for the obscurity of my youth.
I shall drive out in my Manolos in the rain
And give out the best swag at my press junkets ...
But maybe I ought to max my cards now?
So the paparazzi who tail me can recognize my limo
When suddenly I am famous and start to wear Prada.
Stumble it!
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