She Wishes

She wishes for breast implants

(More buxom ladies who wish to sing this song may like to introduce it with the words ‘This is a song I used to sing before I had my operation…’)

When I was a teenager my mother said,
‘Don’t envy others, it’s not well-bred
Some men like girls who look under-fed
And it’s not what’s in your bra but what is in your head
That matters to a man who wants more than thrills.
So don’t make mountains out of molehills’.
(Spoken) Oh! If I only could!’

Short of attention, and in despair,
I ripped off my top in Trafalgar Square
Before a crowd could stop and stare
A policeman who was patrolling there
Said, ‘Move along, move along! (Bad luck, dear!)
Move along! There’s nothing to look at here’.
(Spoken) How right he was.

I’m tired of being mistaken for a boy
By shop assistants and the hoi polloi
I want there to be more of me for men to enjoy.
I need some assets that I can deploy
To catch the kind of guy that I deserve
I need to get me some torpedoes of lurve.
(Spoken) Funbags… gazongas… you know what I mean.

Well-endowed I’m not it’s a certainty
There’s no doubt that I lack upholstery
One ex-boyfriend said, quite hurtfully,
Lie me flat and you could iron your shirt on me.

Don’t dilly-dally – that’s my motto
As soon as I hear that I’ve won the lotto
I won’t get trollied, I won’t get blotto
I’m off to Harley Street like a shot. Oh
I will not shilly and I won’t shally
I’ll get my very own silicon valley.
(Spoken) A cleavage – at last!

With these improvements to my chest
I'll look and feel my very best
I’ll go through life with extra zest
I’ll ride the Tube from east to west
And all the lads will be impressed
As I try out frottage through my vest.
(Spoken) Frottage? Don’t ask your mum…

When I was a teenager my mother said,
‘Don’t envy others, it’s not well-bred
Some men like girls who look under-fed
And it’s not what’s in your bra but what is in your head
That matters to a man who looks for more than thrills.
So don’t make mountains out of molehills’.
(Spoken) What a tactless remark….

NB: ‘Frottage’ - say it the French way, frō-tahzh′ (NOT to rhyme with cottage!)