Think of you with pipe and slippers 
Think of her in bed 
Laying there just watching telly 
Then think of me instead 

I'll never grow so old and flabby 
That could never be 
Don't marry her, have me

And your love light shines like cardboard 
But your work shoes are glistening 
She's a PhD in "I told you so" 
You've a knighthood in "I'm not listening" 

She'll grab your sweaty bollocks 
Then slowly raise her knee 
Don't marry her, have me 

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay 
And you realise you can't make it anyway 
You have to wash the car 
Take the kiddies to the park 
Don't marry her, have me

Those lovely Sunday mornings 
With breakfast brought in bed 
Those blackbirds look like knitting needles 
Trying to peck your head 

Those birds will peck your soul out 
And throw away the key 
Don't marry her, have me

And the kitchen's always tidy 
And the bathroom's always clean 
She's a diploma in "just hiding things" 
You've a first in "low esteem" 

When your socks smell of angels 
But your life smells of Brie 
Don't marry her, have me

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay 
And you realise you can't make it anyway 
You have to wash the car 
Take the kiddies to the park 
Don't marry her, have me

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay 
And you realise you can't make it anyway 
You have to wash the car 
Take the kiddies to the park 
Don't marry her, have me

(Heaton/Rotheray)