Don't Marry Her

The Beautiful South

 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 life 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