The Dubliners, 'Dont Get Married'.
Don't get married girls
You'll sign away your life
You may start off as a woman
But you'll end up as the 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 forever
And he'll promise you the moon
But just wait until you're wedded
Then he'll sing a different tune
You're his tapioca pudding
You're the dumplings in his stew
But he'll soon begin to wonder
What he ever saw in you
Still he takes without complaining
All the dishes you provide
For you see he's got to have his bit
Of jam tart on the side
So don't get married girls
It's very badly paid
You may start off as the mistress
But you'll end up as the maid
Be a daring deep sea diver
Be a polished polyglot
But don't get married girls
For marriage is a plot
Have you seen him in the morning
With a face that looks like death?
With dandruff on his pillow
And tobacco on his breath
And he needs some reassurance
With his cup of tea in bed
For he's worried by the mortgage
And the bald patch on his head
And he's sure that your his mother
Lays his head upon your breast
So you try to boost his ego
Iron his shirt and warm his vest
Then you get 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
Men they're all the same
They just use you when they need you
You'd do better on the game
Be a call girl, be a stripper
Be a hostess, be a
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
But when he takes you to a party
Well, he eyes you with a frown
For you know you've got to look your best
You mustn't let him down
And he'll clutch you with that
"Look-what-I've-got" twinkle in his eyes
Like he's entered for a raffle
And he's won you for the prize
Ah, but when the party's over
You'll be slogging through the sludge
Half the time a decoration
And the other half a drudge
So don't get married
It'll drive you round the bend
It's the lane without a turning
It's the end without an end
Take a lover every Friday
Take up tennis, be a nurse
But don't get married girls
For marriage is a curse
Then you get him off to work
The mighty hunter is restored
And he leaves you there with nothing
But the dreams you can't afford
