| I worship the ground that you walk on
|
| Give praise to the place where you sit
|
| Your face and the place that you talk from
|
| Your teeth and those unlucky lips
|
| I gave you my name and independence
|
| And the best seven years of my life
|
| With twelve months suspended from sentence
|
| And fifty-two lovely black eyes
|
| Love ain’t like the movies
|
| It blisters and bruises
|
| And knocks you around with its fists
|
| It leaves you a wreckage
|
| Of postage and package
|
| Sealed with Glasgow kiss
|
| You’re pure as the driven
|
| And I should be in prison
|
| Or under a lorry
|
| Cause I hit you and I’m sorry
|
| But love ain’t like the movies
|
| It blisters and bruises
|
| And bites like a doberman
|
| Never home sober and
|
| Leaves you a wreckage
|
| Of postage and package
|
| All sealed with a Glasgow kiss
|
| I desecrate the ground that you walk on
|
| Put nails in the place where you sit
|
| I wasted the space that you talk from
|
| Your teeth and those unlucky lips |