Listen to Don't Marry Her by The Beautiful South

Don't Marry Her

The Beautiful South

Alternative

214,710

Apple Music Note

OVERVIEW

LYRICS

Music Video

The Beautiful South - Dont Marry Her (Explicit Version)

Watch The Beautiful South - Dont Marry Her (Explicit Version) on YouTube

Featured In

Listen to Blue Is the Colour by The Beautiful South

ALBUMBlue Is the ColourThe Beautiful South

Listen to The Beautiful South Essentials featuring The Beautiful South

PLAYLISTThe Beautiful South EssentialsApple Music Alternative

Listen to Paul Heaton: The Songwriters featuring The Beautiful South

PLAYLISTPaul Heaton: The SongwritersApple Music Acoustic

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS

The Beautiful South

The Beautiful South

Performer

Paul Heaton

Vocals

Jacqui Abbott

Vocals

Sean Welch

Bass

David Stead

Drums

Dave Rotheray

Guitar

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

Paul Heaton

Composer

Dave Rotheray

Composer

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

Jon Kelly

Producer

John Brough

Additional Producer

Lyrics

[Verse 1]

Think of you with pipe and slippers

Think of her in bed

Laying there just watching telly

Think of me instead

[Verse 2]

I'll never grow so old and flabby

That could never be

Don't marry her, fuck me

[Verse 3]

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"

[Verse 4]

She'll grab your sweaty bollocks

Then slowly raise her knee

Don't marry her, fuck me

[Verse 5]

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco Bay

And you realize you can't make it anyway

You have to wash the car

Take the kiddies to the park

Don't marry her, fuck me

[Verse 6]

Those lovely Sunday mornings

With breakfast brought in bed

Those blackbirds look like knitting needles

Trying to peck your head

[Verse 7]

Those birds will peck your soul out

And throw away the key

Don't marry her, fuck me

[Verse 8]

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"

[Verse 9]

And your socks smell of angels

But your life smells of Brie

Don't marry her, fuck me

[Verse 10]

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco Bay

And you realize you can't make it anyway

You have to wash the car

Take the kiddies to the park

Don't marry her, fuck me

[Verse 11]

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco Bay

And you realize you can't make it anyway

You have to wash the car

Take the kiddies to the park

Don't marry her, fuck me

Written by: Dave Rotheray, Paul Heaton

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