|
A health warning on some possible pitfalls of psychology |
|
Lead Vocal: |
|
Frankie Howerd |
|
I was lonely and depressed |
|
Having fled the family home |
|
When I met an old acquaintance |
|
I had only barely known |
|
And I told her over tea |
|
Of my worries and my woes |
|
And a morbid fear of eating beans |
|
In tightly fitting clothes |
|
And she said psychoanalysis was just the thing for me |
|
And she knew a mayfair analyst |
|
I really ought to see |
|
So I went round to his rooms |
|
And he saw me right away |
|
Though he asked a sum of money |
|
I could ill afford to pay |
|
But I lay down on the couch |
|
By a bowl of flaccid flowers |
|
And I talked and talked and talked and talked |
|
For hours and hours and hours |
|
And he told me tales of oedipus with great authority |
|
And he asked me if my mother |
|
Wore stiletto heels and rubber |
|
And I realised that this poor soul |
|
Was more confused than me |
|
Well the shock was so profound |
|
That I fled into the strand |
|
Where I saw a hare krishna group |
|
And joined in with the band |
|
This was just the life for me |
|
Free of worldly goods and care |
|
And I chanted and |
|
I ranted Round and round trafalgar square |
|
I converted tens of thousands and they joined us then and there |
|
But the bagwan was so jealous |
|
That he called me over zealous |
|
Then he threw me out |
|
When I refused to cut off all my hair (Dr. Ruth, Dr. Ruth, why not write to Dr. Ruth?) |
|
So I wrote to |
|
Dr. Ruth And she helpfully proposed |
|
I should join a nudist colony |
|
And throw away my clothes |
|
All that sun upon my flesh |
|
Would set my libido free |
|
And would guarentee much more of it |
|
Whatever 'it' may be |
|
But I don't feel that |
|
I was quite equipped for such a life |
|
Fair of skin just like my sisters |
|
Too much sun would give me blisters |
|
So I think |
|
I'll turn the whole thing in |
|
And go home to the wife |
