Well, I'm sorry God, I have to say, That having just one life per person is not enough. [Not enough.] I would like to live more times than this,
If you don't agree then tough. [T-U-ough.] There are other lives going on, I haven't lived, And this gives me a sense of frustration. [Frustration - frustration - frust, ra, a, a.] I'm not too bothered about being Mary Queen of Scots or Joan of Ark, All I'm after is Twentieth Century Reincarnation. I want to keep coming back, And trying a different track; I want to go round and round, 'cos I never feel I've got things right. It isn't a proper scheme, I just want to let off steam; We all have to have a dream, and I'll be following my dream tonight. I want to be Mrs Pew, And live in an avenue; I want to have bing-bong chimes and a bathroom with a champagne suite. In my candlewick dressing grown, I want to put Harpic down; If my ironing smells quite fresh then my happiness will be complete. I'll wear an apron when I chop my veggies; Have tiny cactus on the window ledges; Have a rollerblind with scalloped edges; I will never use a Wok, so; I'd prefer to stick to Mrs Beaton; Have a hob that I can then re-heat on; Use my toaster with the ears of wheat on; I will do a lot with Oxo. I want to be Martin Jones, A salesman for mobile phones; I want to shake hands a lot, sit in winebars while I make my sales. I want to drink warm Rose, Keep saying "no way, Jose"; And live in a Docklands flat with a mortgage that's the size of Wales. I'll keep my bottle when the market's crashing; Be super cool when profits take a bashing; I'll cross the crossing when the green man's flashing; I'm a devil on a Zebra; I'll meet a girl and feel a good vibration; Buy her flowers as a nice flirtation; Three carnations from a petrol station; Take her for an aquilibre. I want to be Pauline Park, And work as an invoice clerk; I want to eat lean cuisine, even though I'm eight stone three; I'll sit and I'll fantasise, About cruel men with piercing eyes; Then I'll microwave two mince pies and have them with a cup of tea. I'll watch a thriller if it's not too gory; A mini-series if I like the story; I think there ought to be more Nana Mouskori; No, I'll never have the news on; Doctor Scholl will be my favourite sandal; Higher heels than that, I cannot handle; Saw Barry Mannilow and held my candle; Wax was running down my blouson. I want to be Vera Paige, A dame of a certain age; I want to have big red lips and a cleavage that would drown a mouse; I want to call all men swine, Wear visible panty-line; Have sing-songs on British wine, I always have it in the house. I'll be known in all the pubs and chip shops; Dangly jewellery and sequin zip tops; Tracksuit bottoms and stiletto flip-flops; I'll be really in the groove, eh? Never take a bus if I can cab it; Offer me a bit of life, I'll grab it; My libido would defeat a rabbit; And I'll never change the duvet. I want to be Eileen Gum, Who calls herself just a mum; I want to have three big lads and a husband who I've driven nuts; I'll struggle and sacrifice, To make sure they have things nice; I'll give them such good advice they'll absolutely hate my guts. I'll make them bags that they can take their pumps in; I'll knit pyjamas they can have their mumps in; My mashed potato will have big grey lumps in; I'll control each family member; Make them gather round the Christmas table; And eat until to move they are unable; They'll wish that Joseph never found that stable; I'll put my sprouts on in November. I think it's a giant con, We can't all be everyone; I want to go round and round, just living every life in sight. It isn't a proper scheme, I just want to let off steam; We all have to have a dream, and I'll be following my dream... Following my dream... Following my dream, tonight...!