Goodbye, Girls of Spice, you were ever five little pop tarts.
I'm not exactly broken up now that dissension pulls you apart.
You crawled out of the woodwork and you shouted into our brain.
You took off more than half your clothes
and drove 13-year-olds insane.

And it seems to me you lived your lives like gorillas in the mist
knowing no man could face all your charms and resist.
And your footsteps will always fall
across England's concert stage.
But in fans of real rock and roll
you only inspired rage.

Horniness was tough, a role from which you never strayed.
You created yourselves as superstars
but pain was the price we paid.
Even when your movie died, the press still slobbered over you.
All the papers had to say was that these girls were nearly nude.

And it seems to me you lived your lives like another brick in the wall
never playing your own instruments while you caterwauled.
And your footsteps will always fall
upon England's TV screens.
But in the history of rock and roll
you don't amount to a hill of beans.

Goodbye, Girls of Spice, you were ever five little pop tarts.
You were never worth the hype
always less than the sum of your parts.
Goodbye, Girls of Spice
from the young man who's not sad to see you go
who sees you as less than talented, less than you will ever know.

And it seems to me you lived your lives like a scandal in the wind
and we waited oh so patiently for the rain to set in.
And your footsteps will always fall
upon where-are-they-now shows.
Your candles all have burned out and that's the way fame goes.