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The Ball'ettes

I'm a widowed husband, the talk drives me up the wall,
I hear it every day, you've guessed it Michael Ball.
There's photos on the landing, the dining room and the head,
I suppose I must be grateful there's not one in the bed !

She's off to York, the 'pool and Oxford too.
For those who don't know,  we call the heads the loo.
Next week she's off to the land of sheep, that's right a place called Wales.
There'll be hell to play if it rains, bad language if it hails.

The flask's already packed, the butties and something she baked,
There's one consolation though, I'll be walking in the lakes.
She'll be back at the crack of two, on a high just like a lark,
Chatting till the sun comes up, when  its light no longer dark.

I'll have walked twelve miles, it's sleep that I require,
Not a blow by blow account of Michael Balls Welsh choir.
Then the video will arrive, the tapes worn out with watchin'
The woman's mad, they'll put her away, I hope the hypes not catchin'

I need some peace, the man's drivin' me mad , are there more men out there alone?
Let's hope the scientists never discover to make a Ball'ey clone.
After writing this verse I'll just have to keep low, this fact I just know,
especially as I am being dragged to see the Oxford show.

So Maureen and Jill you've a lot of things to answer,
the guy can only just sing and he certainly ain't no dancer.
So come on you guys from Europe and the U S State,
Lets stand together against this man - BEFORE IT GETS TOO LATE.


Marie's Husband  ( just !!!! )

August 19,2000

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