She puts her makeup on like graffiti on the walls of the heartland
She's got her little book of conspiracies right in her hand
She is paranoid like endangered species headed into extinction
She is one of a kind, well, she's the last of the American girls
She wears her overcoat for the coming of the nuclear winter
She is riding her bike like a fugitive of critical mass
She's on a hunger strike for the ones who won't make it for dinner
She makes enough to survive for a holiday of the working class
She's a runaway of the establishment incorporated
She won't cooperate, well, she's the last of the American girls
She plays her vinyl reco