Don't Marry Her

(Heaton/Rotheray)

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, fuck me

And 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 sweaty bollocks

Then slowly raise her knee

Don't marry her, fuck 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, fuck 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, fuck me

And the kitchen's always tidy

And 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, fuck 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, fuck 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, fuck me