She scrubs up well, does my missus,

in her dungarees and her cape.

I experience what bliss is

when I gaze upon her shape;

and although her hair is thinning

and several parts are growing fat,

there aren't any other women

who can make me feel like that.

In her eyes the stars are swimming

without artificial gloss

and I have to say no thank you to Kate Moss.

 

Since she split up with Pete Doherty

I've attracted Kate's attention,

her efforts to get off with me

have been gathering momentum. 

She writes "Dear Ray", from St Tropez,

"I want to be with you so much!"

She beseeches me to run away

and live with her over the brush.

She holds the hope that we'll elope

to Tenerife or Barbados,

but I have to say no thank you to Kate Moss.

 

It's not that I don't fancy Kate

and her legs so long and lissom,

but Kate does not appreciate

the strength of the competition.

They say Kate only shifts her ass

out of bed for a grand or more,

but for every pound of flesh she has

my missus has three or four.

When you weigh it in the balance

I'd be suffering a loss,

so I have to say no thank you to Kate Moss.

 

While she's snorting coke and smoking dope

and overdosing acid,

I' m popping other pills in hope

my vital parts aren't flaccid.

She's sniffing far too many lines

and damaging her septum.

I'm sipping far too many wines

and losing my erection.

I'd love to please but these dodgy knees

can pay homage to only one boss,

and I have to say no thank you to Kate Moss.