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Don’t Get Married, Girls

Oh don't get married, girls, you'll sign away your life
You may start off as a woman, but you'll end up as a wife
You could be a vestal virgin, take the veil and be a nun
But don't get married girls, for marriage isn't fun
Oh it's fine when you're romancing and he plays the lover's part
You're the roses in his garden, you're the flame that warms his heart
And his love will last for ever and he'll promise you the moon
But just wait until you've wedded and he sings a different tune
You're his tapioca pudding, you're the dumplings in his stew
And he soon begins to wonder what he ever saw in you
Still he takes without complaining all the dishes you provide
But you see he has to have his bit of jam tart on the side
So don't get married, girls, it's very poorly paid
You may start off as a mistress, but you'll end up as a maid
Be a daring deep sea diver, be a polished polyglot
But don't get married, girls, for marriage is a plot
You've seen him in the morning with a face that looks like death
He's got dandruff on his pillow and tobacco on his breath
And he needs some reassurance with his cup of tea in bed
'Cos he's got worries with the mortgage and the bald patch on his head
And he thinks that you're his mother, lays his head upon your breast
So you try to boost his ego, iron his shirt and warm his vest
Then you send him off to work, the mighty hunter is restored
And he leaves you there with nothing but the dreams you can't afford
So DON'T get married girls, for men are all the same
They just want you when they need you, you'd do better on the game
Be a call girl, be a stripper, be a hostess, be a whore
But don't get married, girls, for marriage is a bore
When he comes home in the evening he can hardly spare a look
All he says is What's for dinner, after all you're just the cook
Then he takes you to a party and he eyes you with a frown
And you know you've got to look your best, you mustn't let him down
And he eyes you with that "look what I've got" sparkle in his eye
Like he's entered for a raffle and he's won you for a prize
And when the party's over you'll be slogging through the sludge
Half the time a decoration, half the time a drudge
So don't get married, girls, it'll drive you round the bend
It's the road without a turning, it's the end without an end
Change your lover every Friday, take up tennis, be a nurse
But don't get married, girls, for marriage is a curse

Leon Rosselson