As I walked into the charity store

I saw a second-hand shirt hangin' up by the door

The collar was frayed, there was a stain on the cuff

Caused by ketchup or blood or some such stuff

It wasn't made of polyester or nylon

The label said "Made in the UK" so I tried it on

And I looked in the mirror and declared

"I like this shirt, I want it"



It's not the label on the shirt that you wear

It's the way that you wear it

They say it's style and breeding and culture that counts

But you can't change good taste on the expense account

And if design or fashion makes you a hero

You can dress all highbrow but still be an emotional zero

But I declare "It's not the shirt you wear

It's the way that you wear it"



I was looking for danger, I should have taken more care

I was dressed to kill, I felt so debonair

Wild expectations, arrogant air

Then I walked into that bar, she was standing there

I walked over with all my savoir fair

And she said "You're a smart looking dude

But your character's ugly, it clashes with my shoes

And I, I can't stand your attitude"



I assumed it was leading to a romantic interlude

I thought my conquest was made

But I was stunned by the magnitude

Of her ingratitude

I spent a good thirty bucks on this babe

Like the shirt I was wearing



This romantic affair was not destined to last

The harder I tried, the louder she laughed

I was reduced to despair, my emotions laid bare

She knew I was hurt, made me feel like a jerk

I was humbled, humiliated, castrated

My masculinity dragged through the dirt

Then thrown in the air to be devoured by the lions

The vultures, the jackals and all the scavengers of love

I was strutting around with my chest stuck out

like a peacock preparing to get laid

Thought I looked cool but she put me down

She said "You look like a clown on a circus parade"

Still the shirt has class, it looks well made

She was a babe of the first degree

She was totally fantabulous

Like a goddess from Greece and yet

The epitome of the 20th century femininity

She was in her own league

She was meant for me, it was destiny

Like Adam and Eve, synchronisity

She brought out the testosterone in me



Last time I saw that babe she was smiling contentedly

Now I'm trapped on this murder rap, a mistaken identity

It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me

Now this cop says "It's up to you, death row or solitude

Crime of passion, you should plead 'insane'

You say you wouldn't lie, but we've just blown your alibi

We've found your shirt and it's got a blood stain"



It was the shirt you were wearing

It was the shirt you were wearing