Plastic Bicycles:

Fifty two little faces
Fifty two friends,
Four cities of shapes
Two colors within.

Four sets of grownups
With four lifestyles,
Nine little indians
Never bring a smile.

My poor little heart
Needs a spaded shovel
To dig up those clovers
For diamonds to cuddle.

That wild little number
Jack with patched eye,
A poor little Kingsman
Who is ready to die.

Stir up the woodlands
Each grab your share,
There's nothing to do
But sit here and stare.

Don't press your luck
For that pot of gold,
Belonging to a neighbor
That just now was stole.

Put on shade blockers
To hide yourself within,
Don't give things away
By bringing up a grin.

Two seperate couples
The first has a boat,
The second couple
A fullhouse to gloat.

I'm a legend in Vegas
Filling up the tables,
Fifty two plastic bicycles
Kept in the same stable.