‘Enery the Eighth I am, I am.
I got married to the widow next door;
She’s been married seven times before.
And every one was an ‘Enery,
She wouldn’t have a Willy or a Sam.
I’m her eighth old man named ‘Enery.
‘Enery the Eighth I am.
This minor gem hails from the days before popular romantic songs became self-indulgent, moany little things, complaining through the medium of fatuous, unforgivably clumsy lyrics about cold hearts and the destruction of souls. I imagine the writers must yawn a lot.
4 comments:
Aren't they just! I'm known to shriek unrepeatable words if caught off guard by an inane song.
Almost as bad as those 'do a sickly smile,' so-called family friendly adverts.
Uuuuuuuuuuuuurgh, Jeff!
Then there are the Stannah Stairlift and Steradent ads in the afternoon. When I get to that age, I think I'll become a hoodie.
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