At a certain point I got obsessed with the Jewish American Princess stereotype, which is really sexist, and I don’t think I either then or now really understood what it means, but I referenced it in a few songs, this one being the most obvious. Carolyn Bell, who was the muse of this song, is an incredibly energetic woman who has reinvented herself several times. So this song is a classic illustration of what happens when you get overly invested in one frame of a moving picture. Some of the imagery is based on our mutual love of wildlife. Since I recorded the song I changed one lyric which is reflected below.
Lyrics
Coronation Hymn
Now that you’re here let us pray
The man with the elephant gun has his fun
In the sun of the tropics, myopically searching
For kob and okapi and he just won’t stop he
Awaits bigger game anyway
Now that you’re near him you know why you fear him
Perhaps it’s because of the way that he stalks you
Perhaps it’s because he’s the one you can’t talk to
Eternally set in his ways
See how his vanity upsets your sanity
Now that you’re here let us pray
Now that you’re here let us pray
The woman who’d only make love to a banker
You thank her profusely, she asks you what use she
Can be to your mission, her once proud position
Pathetically crumbles away
Now as you leave her with no tears to grieve her
You sense that she’s part of the dead left behind you
As like some bad omen your mirror reminds you
More of her every day
See how your history dictates your destiny
Now that you’re here let us pray
Now that you’re here let us pray
The boy with his eyes in your hair is aware
Of some aura around you, you’re upset he’s found you
You won’t let him focus upon your neurosis
As if he might take it away
Now that you’ve told him how dearly you hold him
You suddenly discover this once flawless lover
Is oddly familiar and soon you uncover
His elephant gun hid away
Before his sanity upsets your vanity
Now that you’re here let us pray
Now that you’re here let us pray
A girl who has tripped her whole life in glass slippers
Curtsies and blesses your latest excesses
Accepts your caresses, contritely confesses
‘Til soon you are feeling betrayed
Seething with petulance, losing your confidence
Seeking asylum you run to your own room
Forgetting that you’d had it changed to a throne room
When the old king passed away
Try to convince us that you’re not his princess
Long live the queen
Let us pray.