In The Land of Sandra Dee

Oh, there was truth and goodness
In that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges,
And Peyton Place was porn.
For Ike was in the White House,
And Hoss (& Little Joe?!) was on TV,
And God was in his heaven,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

We learned to gut a muffler,
We washed our hair at dawn,
We spread our crinolines to dry,
In circles on the lawn.
And they could hear us coming,
All the way to Tennessee,
All starched and sprayed and rumbling,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

We longed for love and romance,
And waited for the prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz,
And no one's seen him since.
We danced to "Little Darlin,'"
And Sang to "Stagger Lee,"
And cried for Buddy Holly,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

Only girls wore earrings then,
And three was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts,
Except for Jean McKinney.
And only in our wildest dreams,
Did we expect to see,
A boy named George with Lipstick,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.
 

We'd never seen the rock band
That was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson,
And Zeppelins weren't Led.
And Beatles lived in gardens then,
And Monkees in a tree,
Madonna was a virgin,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

We'd never heard of Microwaves,
Or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed,
But they weren't grown in jars.
And pumping iron got wrinkles out,
And "gay" meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never coed,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

 

And bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

Buicks came with portholes,
And side show came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough,
To cover both your cheeks.
And Coke came just in bottles,
And skirts came to the knee,
And Castro came to power,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

We had no Crest with Fluoride,
We had no Hill Street Blues,
We all wore superstructure bras,
Designed by Howard Hughes.
We had no patterned pantyhose,
Or Lipton herbal tea,
Or prime-time ads for condoms,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

There were no golden arches,
No Perriers to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda,
And cats were not called Bill.
And middle-aged was thirty-five,
And old was forty-three,
And ancient were our parents,
In the Land of Sandra Dee.

But all things have a season,
Or so we've heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline,
We swear by Retin-A.
And they send us invitations,
To join AARP,
We've come a long way, baby,
From the Land of Sandra Dee.

So now we face a brave new world,
In slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they're using,
Smaller print in magazines.
And we tell our children's children,
Of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away,
IN THE LAND OF SANDRA DEE.