There she is mowin’ the lawn,
That wonderful gal’ of mine,
I’d be out there me self ya’ know,
If I only ad’ the time.

Stuck inside counting chores’
That some how must be done,
While she’s out there mowin’ grass,
And having heaps of fun.

Have a look at my lot will ya’,
At what I have to do,
There’s just too few hours in a day,
For golf and football too.

Crikey!, now she’s washin’ the car.
It’s a job I used to do a lot,
But I have to study the racing page,
To see which nags are hot.

Where on earth’s me morning tea,
What’s go’in’ on I’m pleading,
Do I have to do everything?
It’s only the garden you’re weeding.

My day’s a bloody disaster,
Now she’s cleaning the drive,
And me mates are comin’ for a Barbie,
Somewhere around five.

And who the hell will save me,
I need something from the shop,
But me girl is at the kitchen floor,
Bucket and a mop.

I give up a man is done,
Just cannot see the point,
Why a man has to do everything,
Just to make his point.

Copyright 2001 Paolo