Jenny takes her clothes off in succession
While her husband rides a bumper in the President's procession
She's sees him on the screen as she looks up from giving head
When he's had enough of that her lover throws her on the bed
To teach her she's alive and suddenly he's dead
Turn up the TV. No one listening will suspect
Even your mother won't detect it
No your father won't know
They think that I've got no respect
But everything means less than zero
Hey, ooh hey, hey, ooh hey
Calling Mister Oswald, calling anyone at the scene
If you were taking home movies there's a chance you might have seen him
They've got a thousand variations, every witness in a file
Jenny puts on some coffee and she comes back with a smile
She says, "I hear that South America is coming into style."
Chorus
A pistol was still smoking, a man lay on the floor
Mister Oswald thought he had an understanding with the law
She's got rubies on her fingers, Jenny turns and looks away
Her mind upon a basement out of the USA
She says, "Let's talk about the future now we've put the past away."