Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Don't Get Married, artist - The Dubliners.
Date of issue: 18.02.2002
Song language: English
Don't Get Married |
Don't get married girls, |
You'll sign away your life |
You may start off as a woman, |
But you'll end up as the wife |
You could be a vestal virgin, |
Take the veil and be a nun |
But don't get married girls, |
For marriage isn't fun |
Oh, it's fine when you're romancing |
And he plays a lover's part |
You're the roses in his garden, |
You're the flame that warms his heart |
And his love will last forever |
And he'll promise you the moon |
But just wait until you're wedded |
And he'll sing a different tune |
You're his tapioca pudding, |
You're the dumplings in his stew |
But he'll soon begin to wonder |
What he ever saw in you |
Still he takes without complaining |
All the dishes you provide |
But, you see, he's got to have |
His bit of jam tart on the side |
So don't get married girls, |
It's very badly paid |
You may start off as the mistress, |
But you'll end up as the maid |
Be a daring deep-sea diver, |
Be a polished polyglot |
But don't get married girls, |
For marriage is a plot |
Have you seen him in the morning |
With a face that looks like death |
He's got dandruff on his pillow |
And tobacco on his breath |
And he wants some reassurance, |
With his cup of tea in bed |
Сause he's got worries with the mortgage |
And the bald patch on his head |
And he's sure that you're his mother, |
Lays his head upon your breast |
So you try to boost his ego, |
Iron his shirt and warm his vest |
Then you get him off to work, |
The mighty hunter is restored |
And he leaves you there with nothing |
But the dreams you can't afford |
So don't get married girls, |
For men are all the same |
They just use you when they need you, |
You'd do better on the game |
Be a call girl, be a stripper, |
Be a hostess, be a whore |
But don't get married girls, |
For marriage is a bore |
When he comes home in the evening, |
He can hardly spare a look |
All he says is "What's for dinner?", |
After all you're just the cook |
But when he takes you to a party, |
Well, he eyes you with a frown |
For you know you've got to look your best, |
You mustn't let him down |
And he'll clutch you with that "Look |
What I've got!" sparkle in his eyes |
Like he's entered for a raffle |
And he's won you for a prize |
But when the party's over, |
You'll be slogging through the sludge |
Half the time a decoration |
And the other half a drudge |
So don't get married, |
It'll drive you round the bend |
It's the lane without a turning, |
It's the end without an end |
Change your lover every Friday, |
Take up tennis, be a nurse |
But don't get married girls, |
For marriage is a curse |
And you get him off to work, |
The mighty hunter is restored |
And he leaves you there with nothing |
But the dreams you can't afford |