My old missus is a scary lady

She’s like Myra Hindley crossed with Ian Brady

Sits all night and channel-hops

Oxfam and Ebay are her favourite shops

Eats piccallilli, straight from the jar

Fell asleep and crashed the car

She knows where the wild things are

Her eyes are nothing like the sun

She never baked one single bun

Hardly ever ironed a shirt

Once sewed a third of a rah-rah skirt

She says my faults are only two

Everything I say, everything I do

She can recite them in a very long list

She can get violent when she’s pissed

She once saw the Shadows and threatened to nut Cliff

I think she’s related to Peter Sutcliffe

She’s like a magpie with purple wings

Flies round looking for shiny things

Sleepy hedgehog’s lyin in the road

Big lorry comin down, with a heavy load

Along comes my missis: stops it in its tracks

Makin sure the little hog can curl up an relax

While other people might be singin its dirge

It’s dreaming and curled up on the lush grass verge

Now I am not poor but I am not rich

But I still love that crazy bitch

I think she may be technically psychotic

But she’s 46 and her body’s erotic

 

If I was a beast I’d be a one-trick pony

But that is the essence of matrimony.

 

 

(feel free to start beat boxing or break dancing and stuff)