Maureen

Maureen, how'd you get my shirt so clean? Maureen, I think I broke your washing machine Maureen, Maureen, doesn't have the time for your dirty mind Maureen, Maureen, gonna show you now if you don't know how Loves to tell ya that she told ya, blink my eyes, I'm 10 years older Maureen, Maureen, how d'ya get my shirt so shirt so shirt so clean I fell asleep, I fell asleep in front of the TV Clouds of steam are rising up with me, to the theme tune of the lottery Bleach the glasses, load the machine, welcome to my mind's canteen I'm only dirty in my dreams She's the conductor of the lonely hearts club orchestra A minor key reprise, her to-do list in her eyes Still three hours to kill 'til the news at nine She gets on with her neighbours, like Israel and Palestine But she'll be fine, yeah she'll be fine 'Cos she's the minister of domesticity User of pop psychology, for her gains She says 'little boys like you are all the same' And we are, and we are, and we are, we are, we are We are, we are, we are, we are, we are, we are Bullshit proverbs, rustic plaques, alphabetical spice racks Ornamental rose tea strainers, unqualified lion tamer Maureen, Maureen, how d'ya get my shirt so shirt so shirt so clean