I’m happy to give of my
opinion,
If you want to hear what I
think.
That is, when I’m down at
the pub,
With my mates, just having
a drink.
But at home, it’s a
different story,
And one that causes me
strife.
For there we have the
fount of all knowledge,
And it’s not me, it’s the
wife!
For she’s got strong views
on every topic:
There’s no subject on
which she hasn’t a take.
She’s an expert in every
field you can name,
No interest in which she
hasn’t a stake.
Tho’ she is my love and my
darling,
My dearest, my treasure,
my dear,
She’s got a fearsome way
of talking,
That inspires a goodly
portion of fear.
Across the marmalade at
breakfast,
I’m on The Guardian, but
she reads the Express.
She chokes on her toast
and she fulminates,
And the crumbs she exhales
make quite a mess.
You see she’s got a very firm
stance,
On any social policy or
decision,
Religion, the Royal Family,
And even on female
circumcision.
I can’t get a word in
edgeways sometimes,
As she dispels any kind of
confusion.
She’s got the answer to
everything,
And for every problem, a
solution.
Professors, doctors and
researchers,
Who’ve spent a life-time
studying ideas,
Stand for nothing in her
onslaught,
As she contradicts them
with jeers.
Economics, world hunger
and AIDS,
She can hold forth without
pause,
So it’s pointless you
asking me,
You’d best check with ‘er
indoors.
Immigration, emigration,
benefit cheats,
Foreign policy, football
or cricket,
It’s best to listen, not
interrupt,
Or she’ll tell you where
you can stick it.
Decoration? Fashion? Or
trends?
She’s the one who knows
where it’s at.
Northern Ireland?
Palestine? Or Syria?
She says what she thinks,
and that’s that!
Homophobia, xenophobia,
And prejudice of every
kind,
Could be banished within a
few minutes,
If she gave you a piece of
her mind!
She knows what’s wrong
with everything,
She’s clear how things
ought to be done,
There’s little she can’t
address herself to,
And for her, there’s
nothing new under the sun.
If only people would
listen to her,
The world could be a much
better place,
There’d be no fighting, or
wars or disease,
And evil would be gone
without trace.
Politics is her specialist
subject,
And don’t get her started
about the tax-man.
Her polemical style is
worse than Jon Humphrys,
And on a bad day gets worse
than Paxman.
Now, I know what you’re
probably thinking,
That she’s incredibly well
meant,
That she should perhaps become
an MP,
And see how she gets on in
Parliament.
But it’s far too late for
that I’m afraid,
There’s already been a
roll of the dice:
For Conservative Central
Office,
Already ring daily just to
ask her advice.
No, there’s no situation
she can’t handle,
There’s not a dogma she
won’t fight:
If you’re looking for a
policy statement,
She’s the one who’ll
provide a sound-bite.
She’s never ready to
settle for nonsense,
And she can’t abide the
status quo.
She doesn’t know the
meaning of silence,
But, for God’s sake, don’t
tell her I said so!
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