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