He gives some classic tunes a spin.
He pours himself another gin.
He hauls his feet up with a grin
when the wife’s away.
He hunkers deep within his cave.
He doesn’t shower, doesn’t shave.
He heats stuff in the microwave
when the wife’s away.
He farts and burps and has a smoke.
He’s quite the simple, happy bloke
enjoying freedom from the yoke
when the wife’s away.
But deep within the still of night
the starry silence starts to bite.
He grabs his pillow, hugs it tight
when the wife’s away.
