Don't know you / Don't want to

All done up
To look your best
Ironic then
That you’re grotesque

Fur coat on
And hair pristine
Prada shoes
All nice and clean

Chanel bag
Eyebrows neatly plucked
Older husband
Who’s rarely fucked

Blackberry out
Oh, calling Mummy
Personal trainer
Must watch the tummy

Silly friends
With silly worries
You’re so spoilt
Rage comes in flurries

Fuck off house
With token pool
Think West End clubs
Are fucking cool

Hate footballers
But you’re a slag
You’d suck me off
If I had a Jag

No taste in music
No taste in life
I’d be embarrassed
To call you my wife

I just don’t get
Why God put you here
I close my eyes
‘Til you disappear