Early Sunday morning The doorbell rings And I come runnin' I pay the paperboy Now I can enjoy A mighty good read Oh, Brenda Starr Now you're coverin' a foreign war I wish that you'd report To me A Technicolor dream You are the Queen Bathed in primary colors I love to see you pout But you don't put out Like the girls in 3-G Is your head really red ? Do your husbands all end up dead ? I wish that you'd report To me I often think it's cold That your life unfolds Next to Nancy and Sluggo's When really you belong Upon the front page This is your destiny Oh, Brenda Starr You're a media superstar I wish that you'd report To me They say your 2-dimensional I think it's almost criminal. . . .