GONE FISHIN' ƒ  F#m Bm Em G D A I knew she had pox, when I looked for clean socks, I found fingers under the bed, And a couple of toes where the fungus grows on the pillow next to her head Didn't need a detective to know she's infected There's a greenish pus oozing out of her truss, I put on protective clothes, I found some gout when I mucked her out and the smell got up my nose She decomposes, but its good for the roses The skin's got no pigment, I think its malignant We've not shared a bed since we've been wed, I'm gone fishing most of the time Because my bride's a thalidomide, her legs don't open too wide She never answers, I think she's got cancer There's a growth on each cheek, and the discharge seeps Through the mushrooms onto the sheets The bedsores weep and the mucus reeks And she hasn't washed-up for weeks Haven't touched her in ages, but it might be contageous She lies around rotting, when she should be out shopping She lies there pining, when my shirt needs ironing I'd rather catch sardines than ringworm and gangrene She never answers, I think she's got cancer She festers there with her ginger hair You know that means she smells of baked beans She's angling for an easy life, I'm angling for a ten pound pike (I'd rather have kippers than what's in her knickers) We've not shared a bed since we've been wed But I'm not a nonce or a faggot It wasn't her looks that got me hooked, Its coz she breeds such a bloody good maggot ©1992 The Macc Lads N.B.- "Ironing", "Washing-up", "Shopping" = women's things.            They are connected to the "menstrual cycle" (which might be in the "kitchen", but we're not too sure). TRACK CHAT HORRID HUNDRED