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. . . .