by Ben Mousley You've just got home with your brand new bride And carried her into the house with pride As she gazed up at you all doey-eyed And life just couldn't be better. A year down the line and the honeymoon's through; You wind her up, and she does you And you're constantly careful of what you do For fear you'll bloody upset her. Well two years on and life is the pits; She was put on this Earth to get on your tits, You've just about come to the end of your wits Cursing the day that you met her. You go down the pub, 'cos you can't stay in And when you come back it's, "Where have YOU bin!?" As she stands there tappin' the rollin' pin With "I HATE MEN" on her sweater. Well one of these nights, as you stumble back And brace yourself for another whack Instead of an unprovoked attack To greet you inside is a letter. She's packed her stuff and gone to her ma So you settle back down in your seat at the bar And drink until you forget who you are As you struggle in vain to forget her. The weeks go by and you talk on the phone Neither enjoying existing alone And for your sins you vow to atone So she tells you to come round and get her. Now she's back, but all is not well 'Cos she makes the rules, you're under her spell Your resolute nature she's managed to quell And your vigour she's managed to fetter You vow that for her you'd walk into hell To the devil himself your soul you would sell And for owt she desires she just has to yell And whatever it is you will let her So if you don't want a wife like Attila The Hun's The next time when off to her mother's she runs Be strong, stand firm and stick to your guns And don't bloody go round and get her.
The end