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Seven year itch.
You have not got a clue
about how much i drink.
Then you never ask
what i feel or think.
Every night a separate bed
all you want is sleep.
Then a moan and groan
enough to make me weep.
The end it is insight
a marriage really over,
the halcyon day of love
lost amongst the clover.
It"s about to self destuct
the heartache will begin,
and all that i can say
is thank the Lord for gin.
There is a loan upon the house,
loan upon the car.
Then there are two kids,
i can see it all so far.
Insurance this insureance that
it is way above our head.
Nobody mentioned this
on the day that we were Wed.
Now it"s all gone wrong
and i thought i had it all.
Now i lift the phone
my lawyer i must call.
No more Sky tv
or broadband from BT,
or coming home at night
to slippers and some tea.
Now it gets quite bitter
i hate the bloody bitch,
but i cannot stop
that dreaded seven year itch.
Back to dear old mummy
oh perish that sad thought.
I"d rather join the Masons,
sleep with the f***ing goat.
So there you have the truth
a marriage that is done,
and i will tell you this
it is no bloody fun.
So heed this good advice
just settle for the screw
and never be so daft
as to say i bloody do!
