The washing machine has eaten all of my socks
I have few clothes left and hardly any jocks.
That bloody machine is always hungry
And the wife can't see why I am so grumpy.
I gave her my good shirt ten years ago
And where it has gone I just don't know.
It might still fit me and it might not,
I really do think this part of a plot
As clothes disappear that I have not seen,
My navy blue jumper and my jacket of green.
Baskets of washing are piled all around
But when I look for something it can never be found.
If I go around stark naked will something be done?
Even as the cold weather makes me feel quite numb.
My mother was right she said I'd come to no good
When I wouldn't wash my clothes like she said that I should.
I have no trousers left now to cover my bum
And I cannot go drinking to have some fun
I could go outside wrapped in our big rug,
I could say it's the fashion when I go down the pub.
Though I kept one jumper, hidden in a cardboard box,
The washing machine has eaten all of my socks.