Lyrics:

Fridays gym and sundays grim

He sees an analyst on tuesday morning

Shes no happier than him

She only likes to hear her own voice talking

Oh well have you seen her face

Soaked in hype and foolishness

They say when you upped and left

Your parents didnt even notice

50 years to go ooh la la

And it seems to me that youre all dead already



Wifey works on style mags

Thin girls with bruises in her pictures

Halfway down she lost herself

I think they call it butterfingers

Oh well its a cosy place

Occasional domestic flare ups

Oh well have you seen her face

She actually believes in haircuts



You sold your old punk records

Read the book instead

You lost your sense of humour

But you kept the queen is dead

You dont look yourself

You dress like your mother