She says when I'm ill
I act like a big tart.
But it's more than a cold
and at worse it's my heart.

I'm feeling so bad
I may not last the night.
She says " Carry on like this
and you may well be right."

My nose won't stop running
and my moods lacking mirth.
She tells me " Grow up
You should try giving birth."

My pulse is now racing
and my face is bright red.
I told her " Tomorrow
I could well wake up dead."

She says " You're not good
when it comes down to luck.
'Cause you've caught me at a time
when I couldn't give a fuck."

She shows me no sympathy
not one tiny bit.
" Get up" she says " You're annoying me
You sniveling little shit."

I'll remember this at the time of the month
when she's moody and awake.
" Just shut up" I'll tell her
" It's only a belly ache."