Welcome back to another #MusicMonday! It’s not about books, but about music, and I’m looking forward to presenting you with a taste of my playlist. It’s the brainchild of Drew from The Tattooed Book Geek, but my inspiration comes from the lovely Claire from A Knight’s Reads. Every Monday, I’ll be choosing a song to share with you. The Spotify playlist is here and it will be updated as I go along.

On Saturday, I will be going to see Paul Heaton. He’s obviously been involved in a huge number of tracks, so I just had to choose my favourite and invite you to sing along. The version here is the explicit version, but there is a cleaner version that was used for the single release.

The Beautiful South: Don’t Marry Her

Think of you with pipe and slippers,
think of her in bed.
Laying there just watching telly,
then think of me instead.

I’ll never grow so old and flabby,
that could never be.
Don’t marry her, fuck me

And your love light shines like cardboard,
but your work shoes are glistening.
She’s a Ph. D in ‘I told you so’,
you’ve a knighthood in ‘I’m not listening’.

She’ll grab your sweaty bollockes,
then slowly raise her knee.
Don’t marry her, fuck me

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay,
and you realise you can’t make it anyway.
You have to wash the car,
take the kiddies to the park.
Don’t marry her, fuck me

Those lovely Sunday mornings,
with breakfast brought in bed.
Those blackbirds look like knitting needles,
trying to peck your head.

Those birds will peck your soul out,
and throw away the key.
Don’t marry her, fuck me

And the kitchen’s always tidy,
and the bathroom is always clean.
She’s a diploma in ‘just hiding things’,
you’ve a first in ‘low esteem’.

When your socks smell of angels,
but your life smells of Brie.
Don’t marry her, fuck me.

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay,
and you realise you can’t make it anyway.
You have to wash the car,
take the kiddies to the park.
Don’t marry her, have me.

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay,
and you realise you can’t make it anyway.
You have to wash the car,
take the kiddies to the park.
Don’t marry her, fuck me

Songwriters: Dave Rotheray / Paul Heaton

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Until next time!