you blame me for things that i do wrong,
you even blame because i wrote this song
and you blame me cos we often fight
but that’s cos you’re often wrong, and i’m often right
i’m aquarius and leo’s your sign
we’re as volatile as petrol mixed with turpentine
you blame me for being self-obsessed,
and all this blaming has made me quite distressed,
now i’m afflicted by the demon booze,
i’ve got the deep depression, slow progression, self-doubt blues
so if you’ve just called to say you’re having a bad hair day, well don’t blame me.
you blame me for all the things i’ve said
you still blame me, cos’ george the gerbil’s dead,
it’s not my fault tim the turtle expired,
the sunlamp in his cage was only just rewired,
it was an act of god, a catastrophe,
by the time i saved my guitars, tim was history.
then you blame me, for things i can’t control,
like jammy doughnuts, the ones without the hole
‘cos doughnuts do the same for me
as dunking hobn-bs in a mug of tetley’s breakfast tea,
but if you called ‘cos you, found out you just don’t suit blue, don’t blame me.
you blame me for things that i forget
like what was the name of the chinese restaurant down in newmarket, where we first met,
when’s your birthday? what’s your favourite food?
this memory loss is fickle, and i’m bound to get screwed,
a rendezvous here, an anniversary there
i could be going senile but i just don’t care
cos you blame me when i don’t empathise
but that’s a notion that’s foreign to most guys,
selective hearing is a blessed curse,
it comes and goes like partial deafness and it’s ten times worse
so if you called to say, your stylist jules has turned gay, don’t blame me.
you blame me when i’m in solution mode
it’s in the genes dear, men either fix things or explode
they say i’m from mars and you’re from venus,
it’s always inter-planetary stuff that comes between us,
men are simple souls, we’re like an open door,
if it’s sympathy you want that’s what your girlfriends are for
you blame me, for my repulsive ways,
like my conviction, that briefs should last for days,
and i’m not bothered if my socks don’t match
and i believe if something itches then you give it a scratch
so if you’ve just called to say you’re having a bad hair day,
don’t blame me, don’t blame me.
or if you called to say, your stylist jules has turned gay, don’t blame me.