Thank goodness he has gone out of my life, through the door
He just about managed to squeeze his head through the gap.
He thought himself above his station, what a nightmare, a bore
I told him he needs to rinse out his words under a running tap.

Will he listen though, I hope he does, it is up to him, I don't care
Too many years I have suffered heard it all so many times before.
But I know what he'll do, bury his head, I like to think where
He is rotten in his bones, in his head through to his very core.