(HeatonRotheray)

With a face like a crab's bus ticket

And skin like a llama's door mat

He was always gonna struggle

Nature had seen to that



He dreamt of those old-fashioned movies

Where Bogart gets the dame

But a lorry load of Lorre

Is still the score of pain



And he sings

I may be ugly

But I've got the bottle-opener

He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw

And in the party party politics of this ugly fame

There is no orderly queue



With a chin like a tramp's juke-box

And eyes like a rhino's ash-tray

It was always going to be pantomime

That made him sing and dance anyway



When you feel like London

And you look like Hull

You think Travolta pulled Newton - John

Who did John Hurt pull?



And they compliment the compliment

And it's driving you insane

It's like talking to a helicopter

When you know that you're a plane



Breath like a mountain goat's satchel

Nose like a pool of sick

But you always leave your flies ahoy

'Cause the world wants to suck your dick

Let it suck!



And he sings

I may be ugly

But I've got the bottle-opener

He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw

And in the party party politics of this ugly fame

There is no orderly queue

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