Don’t Marry Her

Think of you with pipe and slippers

Think of her in bed

Laying there just watching telly then think of me instead

I’ll never grow so old and flabby, that could never be

Don’t marry her, have me

Your love light shines like cardboard

But your work shoes are glistening

She’s a PHD in ‘I told you so’

You’ve a knighthood in ‘I’m not listening’

She’ll grab your Sandra Bullocks and slowly raise the knee

Don’t marry her, have me

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco Bay

And you realise you can’t make it anyway

You have to wash the car, take the kiddies to the park,

Don’t marry her, have me

Those lovely Sunday mornings

With breakfast brought in bed

Those blackbirds look like knitting needles trying to peck your head

Those birds will peck your soul out and throw away the key

Don’t marry her, have me

And the kitchen’s always tidy

The bathroom’s always clean

She’s a diploma in ‘just hiding things’, you’ve a first in ‘low esteem’

When your socks smell of angels, but your life smells of Brie

Don’t marry her, have me

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco Bay

And you realise you can’t make it anyway

You have to wash the car, take the kiddies to the park,

Don’t marry her, have me

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco Bay

And you realise you can’t make it anyway

You have to wash the car, take the kiddies to the park,

Don’t marry her, have me