I'M GOING TO KILL MY HUSBAND by Pam Ayres
I am going to kill my husband, I have stuck all I can stick,
His constant criticising is getting on my wick.
He takes it all for granted, but tonight I can relax,
For the minute he complains, I shall whop him with the axe.
Yes, I’m going to kill my husband, I shall have him to be sure,
He’s never going to curse my navigation any more.
I drive him to distraction when I read a map, I know,
But tonight I’m going to drive him where he didn’t plan to go.
So when he starts haranguing me till I’m a nervous wreck,
Shouts and spits and rages till the veins swell in his neck.
As he grabs the map from me there’ll be no turning back,
I will calmly reach behind me and I’ll whop him with the jack.
I mean, he gets a cold and I’m supposed to sympathise,
And his sneezes shake the rafters and tears roll from his eyes.
He looks so woebegone, just like the back end of a bus,
And yet when I am ill he’ll tell me not to make a fuss.
It’s true, he’s got to go, you may not think I’ve got the right,
But he snores you see and I should know, I’m with him every night.
With a horrifying steady rhythm, whistle, snore and snort,
Well tonight he’s going to stay asleep for longer than he thought.
“Your honour, I confess, that with a satisfying thwack,
I hit him with the frying pan from seven paces back.”
The weapon was examined by the jury good and true,
It was all made up of women, and they all said,”After you!”
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