Fashion model came from Bolton;
went to Paris saw the sights.
She scaled the heights.
Close cropped hair with slit down skirt.
With flesh on show, she's such a flirt,
beneath the lens and harsh white glare.
Then left on stalls in pouring rain;
oh dear Tracy, such a shame!
Peasant girl came from Paris;
went to Bolton became a bride.
At least she’d tried.
Streaked blonde hair and dress of white;
not for her Dior’s delight.
Outside the Church she’s catching stares.
Then fifteen kids and fag in mouth
She shuffles round the house, who cares?
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