I'm 37, I'm still living with me mum
I've no pals now my guinea-pig's dead
And my dad needs my room to grow mushrooms
So I suppose that it's time I was wed
Now you don't sweat much for a fat lass
And I hear you've a rich mum and dad
And in the dark, with the light right behind you
You really don't look quite that bad
And that's why I wrote you this meaningful melody

OK lads, three chords in the key of A - let's put some spunk into it...

I can be the hot-dog and you can be the bun
I can be the ramrod and you can be the gun
I can be the cistern if you will pull my chain
I can be the dyno-rod if you will be the drain
I'll even be the daddy and you can be the mum
I can be the suppository and you can be the bum

But I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
It's one of life's little mysteries
No I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
Oh cruel fate

I can be the christmas fairy you can be the tinsel
I can be the athletes foot and you can be the plimsol
I can be the landlord's thumb and you can be the drink
I can be the plunger and you can be the sink
I will be the dentist if you will open wide
I can be the vet's rubber glove and you can be the cow's backside

But I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
Dear Anna Raeburn, what am I doing wrong?
No I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
I've got the brylcreem bounce

You can be the sandwich I can be the lemon curd
You can be the WC and I can be the turd
I can be the rupture and you can be the truss
You can be the pimple and I can be the puss
You can be the vomit bag and I can be the sick
You can be the Y-fronts and I can be the ... what's this word?

I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
I've got me own teeth and a motorbike and sidecar
No I can't understand (no he can't understand)
No I can't understand why women don't like me
Me me me...

I can be the finger and you can be the pie
I can be the porker and you can be the sty
I can be the writing if you will be the wall
I can do the breaststroke if you will do the crawl
You can be the racing car and I can be James Hunt
I can be the sailor and you can be the.. What's this word?
Mr. Biggun, the word is punt!
Are you sure?
I can be the stone and you can be the kidney
You can be the choirboy and I can be my rather strange uncle Sidney

But if your heart should chance resist my subtlety and charms
And my suave sophistication fails to bring you to my arms
You'd be the wild and lovely girl I'd lost before she'd grown
And you will be a memory and I will be...
Probably going down the pub. There's a darts match on at The Swan in Fulham Broadway...
Or I might go to the pictures and see Clit Eastwood... or 'Danish Dentist On The Job'...
Or I might go and stare at the nurses playing tennis...
Or I might go and get some Algerian Scotch whiskey from the off-license and get comode-hugging drunk...
Or I might go and stick me dong thru somebody's letter-box