Breaking the rules

Breaking the rules 

I’m going to grow a moustache, that curls up at the end,
For just no other reason, than to drive ‘er round the bend,
You see she likes things tidy, all neat and in there place,
And I can break the ‘gaffers rules’, with a ‘stosha’ on me face.

I think I’ll grow a ‘big – un’, one that I can hide behind,
Just big enough so she don’t know what’s going through my mind,
And if I grow a ‘thick un’, just like a holly bush,
I can hide a load more dinner, in my ‘hairy mush’.

Do you think she’ll love me, if I change my face?
Or do you think she’ll get somebody else to take my place?
She might decide to ‘chuck me’, and throw me on the street,
But with my ‘stosha’ I won’t mind, I won’t admit defeat.

I’ll turn into a ‘busker’, with my big fat hairy lip,
And sing and dance for pennies, and I’ll give ‘er’ the slip,
For when she thinks she’s tracked me down, I will not be feared,
For my ‘stosh’ will have a brother now, – a great big hairy beard.

Do you think my plan will work, or should I let it lie?
I’m perhaps too old to be so bold, maybe time has passed me by,
But maybe just a little one, perhaps I’ll misbehave,
Just enough to get ‘er’ shouting ” Time you had a shave”.

Mick