Her hair is the texture of new-mown hay,
Her nose is pocked and bulbous and tinged with grey,
She's irascible, depressive and hard to understand,
And some people say she should have been a man.
But nobody knows my Bertha like I do.

Her eyes transmit the venom of a rattlesnake,

Her lips are puce and pouting and probably fake,

She has the sense of humour of a giggling grave,

And some people say she'll never be saved.

But nobody knows my Bertha like I do.

She used to play at right back for the WRAF,
Her favourite thing was jumping up and down on the ref,

She's built like a mountain with muscles on her teeth,

And some people say she should be in the police.

But nobody knows my Bertha like I do.

She's a union official who votes for the right,
She used to be a Nazi before she saw the light,

She loves to wear a uniform with highly polished wellies,

And some people say now they know where hell is.

But nobody knows my Bertha like I do.

For I need to have my Bertha to help me through life,
I'm such a shrinking violet I need a tough wife,
She's protective and aggressive and never lets me down,
And though some people say I'm a weak-kneed clown,
Nobody knows me like my Bertha does. 

PLEASE VISIT MY WINGS e-PRESS PAGE HERE.