Well, I don't care to eat out in smart restaurants.

I'd rather do a Vindaloo: take away is what I want.

I was down at the old Bengal, having telephoned a treat

when I saw her framed in the kitchen door.

She looked good enough to eat.

(And I mean eat.)

She was a tall thin girl.

She looked like a tall thin girl.

She said, ``Whose is this carry-out?''

My face turned chilli red.

Well, I don't know about carrying out,

but you can carry me off to bed.

(And I mean bed.)

She was a tall thin girl.

She moved like a tall thin girl.

Maybe I can fetch for it,

and maybe I can stretch for it.



I may not be a fat man and I'm not exactly small

but when it all comes down, couldn't stand my ground.

This girl was tall.

(And I mean tall.)



Big boy Doane, he's a drummer. Don't play no tambourine

but he's Madras hot on the bongo trot,

if you know just what I mean.

Stands six foot three in his underwear;

going to get him down here and see

if this good lady's got a little sister `bout the same size as me.

She was a tall thin girl.

She looked like a tall thin girl.

Well, can I fetch for it?

Well, maybe I can stretch for it?

Well, am I up for it? Or do I have to go down for it?