Irish Song Lyrics 
from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
Don't Get Married Leon Rosselson 
Don't get married girls, you'll sign away your life You may start off as a woman but you'll end up as the wife You could be a vestal virgin, take the veil and be a nun But don't get married girls for marriage isn't fun 
Oh, it's fine when you're romancing and he plays the lover's part You're the roses in his garden, you're the flame that warms his heart And his love will last forever and he'll promise you the moon But just wait until you're wedded, then he'll sing a different tune 
You're his tapioca pudding, you're the dumplings in his stew But he'll soon begin to wonder what he ever saw in you Still he takes without complaining all the dishes you provide For you see he's got to have his bit of jam tart on the side 
So don't get married girls, it's very badly paid You may start off as the mistress but you'll end up as the maid Be a daring deep sea diver, be a polished polyglot But don't get married girls, for marriage is a plot 
Have you seen him in the morning with a face that looks like death? With dandruff on his pillow and tobacco on his breath And he needs some reassurance with his cup of tea in bed For he's worried by the mortgage and the bald patch on his head 
And he's sure that your his mother, lays his head upon your breast So you try to boost his ego, iron his shirt and warm his vest Then you get him off to work, the mighty hunter is restored And he leaves you there with nothing but the dreams you can't afford 
So don't get married girls, men they're all the same They just use you when they need you, you'd do better on the game Be a call girl, be a stripper, be a hostess, be a whore But don't get married girls, for marriage is a bore 
When he comes home in the evening he can hardly spare a look All he says is "What's for dinner?" After all you're just the cook But when he takes you to a party, well, he eyes you with a frown For you know you've got to look your best, you mustn't let him down 
And he'll clutch you with that "Look-what-I've-got" twinkle in his eyes Like he's entered for a raffle and he's won you for the prize Ah, but when the party's over you'll be slogging through the sludge Half the time a decoration and the other half a drudge 
So don't get married, it'll drive you round the bend It's the lane without a turning, it's the end without an end Take a lover every Friday, take up tennis, be a nurse But don't get married girls, for marriage is a curse 
Then you get him off to work, the mighty hunter is restored And he leaves you there with nothing but the dreams you can't afford