On mi post-coital fag
She stung me fer eighty-five quid

"You've 'ad the executive treatment"
She says wi' a smile ear to ear
"An' fer sex o' that kind
You'll probably find
That eighty-five quid isn't dear"

I were caught off mi guard I can tell ya
I've never coped well under stress
An' though it seemed drastic
I just give 'er mi plastic
An' charged it to American Express

She left me stark naked on t' sideboard
She blew me a kiss as she went
An' she dropped me a flyer
Next time I could try 'er
Wi' a discount o' fifteen percent

I were down in 'The Parrot' last Thursday
Though wine bars are no longer my style
I took note o' Belinda
She were sat by the winda
Flashin' Father O'Donnel that smile
  A lesson? Well, I haven't been lookin'
Still, I found one, I 'ave to agree:
There'll be room in these parts
Fer crap wine bars an' tarts
Just as long as there's gobshites like me!


Continue Return