The One What Got Away

For all the times I dillied
and all the times I dallied
Everybody's got one that gets away.
Mine was Jo.
She's got a boy's name, I know
And though I never saw
I promise, she was all girl.
She had great big effervescent ginger hair
The colour of a nice'n'spicy niknak or a girl who fake tans too much
And as such her face was pale
So alabaster and translucent
you could see right through her
the faint hint of red blood cells
floating purposefully up their canals.
And her teeth.
Her english teeth,
like Mossy or Miller or Austin Powers.
But it was fine, cos she was fit.
Ethereal even.
You know them girls that boys are scared to try it on with
in case they get knocked back.
Legs up to here
Hair down to there
Tits all out here
Arse all like pow!
And I'd watched and witnessed valiant indie knight upon plucky indie peasant
in their check indie shirts and pointy winklepicker shoes
give it large and stumble and fall
on the dancefloor at fuzz.
But i'm not scared!
I'm confident, I'm savvy and charming as well
I'm impudent, I'm presumptious, I'm sleazy as hell!
Yeah, baby, yeah!
No. No.
I've lost it, I've bottled it, I've waved me white flag
I'm a wiener, a willy, my ardour, it's sagged.
Like a great big man-sized flaccid penis
Struggling to raise me game
in the face of her great big ginger pressure.
I'm far too stressed, i need less pressure.
i know, i'll go down the friend route.
The chute that shoots right the way to her heart
I'll go round hers and we'll giggle over Cosmo
and slag off Tyra on America's Next Top Model
(how saggy are her tits these days?)
and she'll come over to mine and I'll cook her some food
Some Belle & Sebastien to get in the mood.
She cuts me a stare and lends me her eyes.
I think I must be in there now.
No. No.
That chute that shoots its way to her heart has just shot me, right in the foot,
and we've gone from being friends to even better friends.
I think she's got a new fella now.
His check shirts are indie as fuck
His winklepicker shoes are pointy as fuck
And you should see his hair -
it's bigger than mine!
But no schadenfreude from me.
I'm happy for her.
But I think to myself from time to time
about those days when she'd come over
or I'd go over
and I'd lend a half-heartedly sympathetic ear
and listen to all her boy troubles
"the trouble with men is they're all boys
I need someone to sweep me off my feet."
I knew all the answers, I knew what to do
But all that time I dillied
and all that time I dallied
and in the end
I just let her go.