Testo: Barbara Dickson. The 7 Ages of Woman. Picking Up After You.

Here comes the bride
There goes the groom
Looks like a hurricane
Went through this room
Smells like a pool hall
Where's my other shoe
And I'm sick and tired of pickin' up after you

Looks like you spent the night in a trench
And tell me
How long have you been combing your hair with a wrench?
The roses are dead
And the violets are too
And I'm sick and tired of pickin' up after you

Well, I've told you before
I won't tell you again
You don't defrost the icebox
With a ballpoint pen
This railroad apartment
Is held together with glue
And I'm sick and tired of pickin' up after you

Because I know
I've been swindled
I never bargained for this
What's more, you never cared about me
Why don't you get your own place
So you can live like you do
And I'm sick and tired of pickin' up after you

Take all your relatives
And all of your shoes
Believe me I'll really swing
When you're gone
I'll be living on chicken and wine
After we're through
With someone I pick up after you
With someone I'll pick up after you
With someone I pick up after you
With someone I pick up after you