Accessory to Murder

Accessory to Murder

Fashion police knocked on my door,
There’d been a murder in town, they were digging for more,
In their dark dapper blues, starched white collars,
Cuffs-so-stiff, they pulled out your photo,
“Do you know this man, Miss?”

It was a horrible shot, nowhere near one of your best,
With your shirt tails untucked and you hair just a mess.
When I glanced it over for them I couldn’t help but conclude,
There use of this photo made them unkind, downright rude!
When I asked them what happened in a crisp, pleated way,
“His wife shot him dead,” is all they would say.

It was that weekend in Vegas, you’d remember the one,
We were out on the Strip, placing bets, having fun,
When that camera crew stopped us, we heard a man say,
“What’s your personal style?” as you weaved - ducked away.

Being the ham that I am, I ate it up - did my twirl,
Wicked, I said, I’m a dangerous girl.
Lost in the moment, sheer black hose, trimmed with lace,
Soon your picture and mine were all over the place.

Nauseous and reeling from their deep plunging news,
I threw up and ruined my favorite French shoes.
I didn’t do it on purpose, I hotly confessed,
Then caught my high heel in my best chiffon dress.

“You have the right to remain silent,”
A straight-laced blue said, “It’s because of your actions
That this chap is now dead, he lied to his wife, messed around,
Wholly spurned her and your involvement makes you,
An accessory to murder.”

Fashion victims you and I, it’s a shame that someone had to die.
But I learned my lesson, learned it well… to cause or do no harm,
Never wear a married man out upon your arm.