| I love women but I’m thinking of giving in
|
| I love women but what’s the point of arguing
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| With the men from boarding schools and building sites
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| Who’ve told me I’m a homosexual all my life
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| One stop past Embankment and the coughs begin
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| Hell hath no fury like an insecure Englishman
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| You don’t need psychoanalysts to translate this
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| 'There is an open homosexual in our midst'
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| The homosexual they call me it’s all the same to me
|
| That spectre they projected I will now pretend to be
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| Since their neurosis is what passes for normality
|
| It’s okay with me if I’m queer
|
| Since their tone-deafness is called the love of music
|
| I won’t disabuse them
|
| I’ll make love with their women
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| I’ll make them sing notes of pleasure
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| Their husbands will never hear
|
| I love women but I take them by surprise
|
| Pretending absolute indifference to their breasts and thighs
|
| Like their hairdressers and dressmakers I hear confessionals
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| Reserved for homosexual professionals
|
| As I put their feet in stirrups with my limp wrist
|
| (A trick I learned from a homosexual gynaecologist)
|
| I recall the words my first girlfriend ended our first date with
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| 'I feel privileged you chose me to go straight with'
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| 'The Homosexual' they call me
|
| It’s all the same to me
|
| That spectre they projected I will now pretend to be
|
| Since their neurosis is what passes for normality
|
| It’s okay with me if I’m queer
|
| Since their tone-deafness is called the love of music
|
| I won’t disabuse them
|
| I’ll make love with their women
|
| I’ll make them sing notes of pleasure
|
| Their husbands will never hear
|
| You who called me shirt-lifter in Chemistry class
|
| You who sniggered 'Look out for your arse'
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| Now your women wash your shirts, now your kids are born, baby Look out for your
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| horns
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| You who called me teapot, who plagued me with your bile
|
| Guess who I’ve got coming to the boil
|
| Why not grab the nettle I’ll settle for being the kettle if you’re the pot
|
| I take my tea like my revenge: sweet and hot
|
| 'The Homosexual' they call me
|
| It’s all the same to me
|
| That spectre you projected I will now pretend to be
|
| Since your neurosis is what passes for normality
|
| It’s okay with me if I’m queer
|
| Since your tone-deafness is called the love of music
|
| I won’t disabuse you
|
| I’ll make love with your woman
|
| I’ll make her sing notes of pleasure
|
| That you will never hear
|
| Never in a million years
|
| No fucking fear |