I knew she had pox, when I looked for clean socks,
I found fingers under the bed,
And a couple of toes where the fungus grows on the pillow next to her head
Didn't need a detective to know she's infected
There's a greenish pus oozing out of her truss, I put on protective clothes,
I found some gout when I mucked her out and the smell got up my nose
She decomposes, but its good for the roses
The skin's got no pigment, I think its malignant
We've not shared a bed since we've been wed,
I'm gone fishing most of the time
Because my bride's a thalidomide, her legs don't open too wide
She never answers, I think she's got cancer
There's a growth on each cheek, and the discharge seeps
Through the mushrooms onto the sheets
The bedsores weep and the mucus reeks
And she hasn't washed-up for weeks
Haven't touched her in ages, but it might be contageous
She lies around rotting, when she should be out shopping
She lies there pining, when my shirt needs ironing
I'd rather catch sardines than ringworm and gangrene
She never answers, I think she's got cancer
She festers there with her ginger hair
You know that means she smells of baked beans
She's angling for an easy life, I'm angling for a ten pound pike
(I'd rather have kippers than what's in her knickers)
We've not shared a bed since we've been wed
But I'm not a nonce or a f*****
It wasn't her looks that got me hooked,
Its coz she breeds such a b***** good maggot
©1992 The Macc Lads
I found fingers under the bed,
And a couple of toes where the fungus grows on the pillow next to her head
Didn't need a detective to know she's infected
There's a greenish pus oozing out of her truss, I put on protective clothes,
I found some gout when I mucked her out and the smell got up my nose
She decomposes, but its good for the roses
The skin's got no pigment, I think its malignant
We've not shared a bed since we've been wed,
I'm gone fishing most of the time
Because my bride's a thalidomide, her legs don't open too wide
She never answers, I think she's got cancer
There's a growth on each cheek, and the discharge seeps
Through the mushrooms onto the sheets
The bedsores weep and the mucus reeks
And she hasn't washed-up for weeks
Haven't touched her in ages, but it might be contageous
She lies around rotting, when she should be out shopping
She lies there pining, when my shirt needs ironing
I'd rather catch sardines than ringworm and gangrene
She never answers, I think she's got cancer
She festers there with her ginger hair
You know that means she smells of baked beans
She's angling for an easy life, I'm angling for a ten pound pike
(I'd rather have kippers than what's in her knickers)
We've not shared a bed since we've been wed
But I'm not a nonce or a f*****
It wasn't her looks that got me hooked,
Its coz she breeds such a b***** good maggot
©1992 The Macc Lads