There must be something wrong with your new girl
so you've not told me all about her. What's
the problem? Lank hair, squeaky voice or spots?
Is she some crazy tart? You're in a whirl
not seeing straight. I've scrutinised your bed.
Empty, it's full of clues. Her cloying scent
on pillows. And your mattress is all bent,
it's squashed from fucking. All the springs are dead
on their last squeak. And you're shagged out as well,
so tired all the time. Clearly she's got
you round her finger, also up her twot.
And if you weren't ashamed of her, you'd tell.
So if you're quite convinced there's nothing wrong,
tell me so I can put it in a song.