Her number's on the wall of a telephone box

But a mistress in distress is something she's not

You see, She can fake it - She can take the lot,

And She can take you for every damn thing that you've got



If you said that she was just a whore

Well she'd bite your Dick off and throw it out the door

When She's back to front and she's down on all fours,

You'd never guess that She hated you, and that She was so fucking bored



She lives on Pills, Cat food and Cigarette ash,

She's got one eye on the time and one eye on your cash

She knows just what She wants- and what She wants is what she gets

Give it to her and She'll give it to you, but She'll have no regrets