Based (plagiarised) on Jesse Fuller's "San Francisco Bay Blues".  Murdered by Blind Drunk Fats Lemon Coopey.

 

Walking with Our Gert down beside the flooded River Aire

Scruffy togs is what folks see us wear;

It’s been the same it seems

Since our quarantine,

Just stay at home,

No need to roam,

No need for make-up, scent or comb;

I’ve suits in the wardrobe, white shirts and black bow ties

Our Gert’s spent a fortune on stuff to accessorize;

We’ve fashion wear although

These days it doesn’t show

No need for bezzy duds when you just wear Covid clothes.

 

There seems no point getting dressed to watch TV

I lounge all day in my trolleys on our settee;

When Gert shops at the Spar

I wait inside the car

Cos I’ll have gone

With no trousers on

And Gert has got no bra;

I’ve worn my slobby duds to death for such a while

When I wear my suits next they’ll be out of style

They’re mostly decomposed

Moth-eaten, I suppose,

No need for George Armani when you’re wearing Covid clothes.

 

I just can’t be bothered to break this deep malaise

The shirt I’ve got on I’ve been wearing seven days

My socks have run away

To escape their ripe bouquet,

And if you peeked in

My laundry bin

You’d see my pants were grey;

I wouldn’t know where to find my can of Lynx

No visitors so no-one smells the stink

I hum from head to toes

The pong gets up your nose

No need to “Wash’n’Go” when you’re wearing Covid clothes.