Beautiful South I My Be Ugly
With a face like a crab's bus ticket And skin like a llama's door mat He was aways gonna struggle Nature had seen to that He dreamt of those old-fashioned movies Where Bogart gets the dame But a lorry load of Lorre Is still the score of pain And he sings I may be ugly But I've got the bottle-opener He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw And in the party party politics of this ugly fame There is no orderly queue With a chin like a tramps juke-box And eyes like a rhino's ash-tray It was always going to be pantomime That made him sing and dance anyway When you feel like London And you look like hull You think Travolta pulled Newton-John Who did John Hurt pull? And they compliment the compliment And it's driving you insane It's like talking to a helicopter When you know that you're a plane Breath like a mountains goat's satchel Nose like a pool of sick But you always leave your flies ahoy 'Cause the world wants to suck your dick Let it suck! And he sings I may be ugly But I've got the bottle-opener He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw And in the party party politics of this ugly fame There is no orderly queue
