Or send me an octave

I went to a Salon
They cut off my hair
I saw it was raining
As I ran away

If you still love me
Send me a note
Or send me an octave
For I love men’ who smoke

If you are jealous
It’s not my affair
We never married
Unless we  in a lair

Give me your money
Give me your clothes
I’ll be your banker
And hear all your woes

The News  drives us crazy
But it gives us a thrill
It’s free and it’s cheaper
Than swallowing a pill

When Harry gets married
He will wear a suit
We will be happy
And wait for his fruit

Meghan is lovely
Pray for a child
If it is black
It will cause no surprise

Perhaps Fergie’s daughter
Will marry a Jew
They are not Christians
So Jesus ain’t too.

Then her dear sister
A Muslim will wed
So for a long time
They will all be in bed.

That’s why it’s better
To marry at night
You can be bedded
Before it gets light