My first I wed when just sixteen
And he was sixty-five.
He treated me like any queen
The years he was alive.
Oh I betrayed him on the sly,
Like any other bitch,
and how I longed for him to die
And leave me young and rich!
My second is a gigolo
I took when I was old;
That he deceives me well I know,
And hungers for my gold.
When I adore each silken hair
That crowns his handsome head,
I’m everlastingly aware
He wishes I were dead.
How I would love my vieux if he
Today were by my side;
My gig would have been daft for me
When I was first a bride.
But for his mother I can pass,
Although I am his wife;
Like father was my first – alas!
The irony of life.
