Oh husband, dear husband, I tremble with fear;
You've been on overtime almost all year;
And since you are gone till way late at night,
A good piece of ass seems way out of sight.
Oh husband, dear husband, please don't be a fool;
Working overtime is wasting your tool;
For better it is to be poor all your life,
Than bring a soft peter home to your wife;
I used to be happy as your little queen,
But now every night you're nowhere to be seen;
You come home from work just able to creep,
I feel like screwing, but you want to sleep.
Each evening, dear husband, you crawl into bed,
Your intentions are good, but your peter is dead;
I play with your pecker all wrinkled and dry,
I get so damn mad, I could lay down and cry.
I have pleaded with you dear, with tears in my eyes,
I've played with your balls, but your pecker won't rise;
So I'll find me a man who works eight hours a day,
And while you're at work, we'll proceed to make hay.
For in this whole world there is only one sin,
For which there's no pardon, and never has been;
And that is a man who is so foolish and mean,
That he gives up his screwing to run a machine. |
