It’s a Saturday night; you’re not feeling too bright
And your thoughts are all caught in a flurry
And you’re lying in your bed, when it enters your head
That you couldn’t half murder a curry
 You toss and you turn, and you try counting sheep
But it’s no earthly use; you just can’t get to sleep
For your mind’s on one track, and you can’t get it back
And your brain swirls around like a slurry
And you can’t get away from those rumblings that say
That you couldn’t half murder a curry
In the small hours of day, as the time slips away
And you’re trying to forget all your worries
It’s grossly unfair, but the feeling’s still there
That you couldn’t half murder a curry
You dream of pakora and prawn vindaloo
And a beef buryani sufficient for two
It’s the same the world over, in Dunblane and in Dover,
In Alloa, Stirling, and Surrey
It’s not what you planned, but your stomach expands
When you couldn’t half murder a curry
It’s a problem, it’s true, but you know what to do
The solution’s quite element – urry
When your inside lets out one hell of a shout
That you couldn’t half murder a curry
Just turn on the lights and then throw on your clothes
For you’ve never yet seen that old carry-out closed
And if a polisman sneers, “Whit are you doin’ ‘ere?
And what seems to be all the ‘urry?”
Just tell him what’s what; that your gut’s in a knot
Cause you couldn’t half murder a curry
Now you’ve got your desire; but your stomach’s on fire
And homeward hot foot you must scurry
You’ve an hour or two till the reckoning’s due
And you couldn’t half murder – that – damned – curry....! |
