Pump someone with a gat;
innocence ain’t where it’s at.
Make me up as an ersatz femme.

Platinum blonde wig ’neath my hat;
I’ll be slender, far from fat.
Make me up as a deadly femme.

Fear I will cause to men
when seduction starts.
I’ll cause their knees to bend,
with my stone-cold heart.

Stuffed in a slinky dress,
I’ll tell them exactly who’s boss.
Make me up as a dreaded femme.

Dump chumps, leeringly laugh,
trip them up to make a gaffe…
fake ’em out as a stealthy femme.

Put them through hell and then
get ’em up before the bench.
Take their bucks when I’ve made them fall.

Steer to bad choices, men,
a seductive tart.
I will reduce to boys, men--
I’ve a stone-cold heart.

Snuff ’em if they should mess
with me, not acknowledge I’m boss.
Wake up? Not after deadly end.

Gun ’em down with a laugh,
then have a smoke and Bourbon-quaff.
Made up, me, as femme fatale.

Slugging down another quaff,
I won’t turn the TV off.
Gaze at TCM’s “Noir All[ey].”

Ain’t my cup of tea, femme fatale.
Stay pleased, yup, as a gent banal.