I blame myself, for its all my own fault

Should have been honest from the start

It began that night after American Gigolo

When I said he was prodding my heart

 

Since then his pud's gone to his head

He's convinced he's Warren Beatty

I could do with a lover of substance

A stud fit and well-hung and meaty

 

By now I've got used to pretending

I deserve at the very least a BAFTA

For screaming like Bette Davis while

Hiding my compulsion for laughter

 

Rhonda next door's a fellow martyr

Her man Rod has another chipolata

His yells of triumph through the wall

The reverse of his sausage pro rata

 

Why do these duds never catch on?

I'm amazed how they have the gall

For half of the time they're waving

A Woodbine inside the Albert Hall

 

THank heavens for my dildo Polly

With her I can really let myself go

She's huge, demands no deceit

And above all she's free from B.O.