Lyrics
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...!
