Balada de Madame Frigidaire

I walk post-modernly in love with the new refrigerator
First white slave I bought, came and made the revolution
This eternal feminine of industrial comfort injected into my vein, I gave in!
And by putting faith in this fat goddess of technology, I froze with pure emotion!

Now, since very young I shiver before the debutante maid
An electric domestic then, what sex-appeal! It gives me butterflies!
This goddess of fertility, ready-made à la Duchamp, has become more than my lover
She turned into a super-star, the ideal woman, more than a mother, more than the other
My dear friend!

Mister Andy, the pop pope, and another friend of mine, syrup, got tired of saying
Why God, Money and Sex, Ideal, Homeland and Family if someone already has a Frigidaire?
It's Freud, guys! Falling for the charm of an object-woman
Oh, I get confused, madame! And the middle class that sucks if heaven, on credit, is given!

What whiteness in the sensual open and close of this Our Aseptic Lady!
With her I go out and cheat on the television, my queen and yours
Mrs. Frigidaire eats me, but no kids double income! Children compromise aesthetics!
Oh, like Oedipus-King-Momo, how I eat and drink everything of hers, delights of frigidity!

Inventors of Madame Frigidaire, I ask for an encore! Thank you very much!
After all, in the refrigerator, for better or worse, the future of the country is placed
And a third-rate future, placed like this in the refrigerator, will never become past
Oh, may God at the end of the orgy, already with a cool head, not take a sweet ice cream!

Mister Andy, the pop pope, and another friend of mine, syrup, got tired of saying
Why God, Money and Sex, Ideal, Homeland and Family if someone already has Frigidaire?
It's Freud, guys! Falling for the charm of an object-woman
Oh, what an infamous pun! The woman is in there, yet I said the opposite!