With a face like a crab's bus ticket
 And skin like a llama's door mat
 He was always gonna struggle
 Nature had seen to that

 He dreamt of those old-fashioned movies
 Where Bogart gets the dame
 But a lorry load of Lorre
 Is still the score of pain

 And he sings
 I may be ugly
 But I've got the bottle-opener
 He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw
 And in the party party politics of this ugly fame
 There is no orderly queue

 With a chin like a tramp's juke-box
 And eyes like a rhino's ash-tray
 It was always going to be pantomime
 That made him sing and dance anyway

 When you feel like London
 And you look like Hull
 You think Travolta pulled Newton - John
 Who did John Hurt pull?

 And they compliment the compliment
 And it's driving you insane
 It's like talking to a helicopter
 When you know that you're a plane

 Breath like a mountain goat's satchel
 Nose like a pool of sick
 But you always leave your flies ahoy
 'Cause the world wants to suck your dick
 Let it suck!

 And he sings
 I may be ugly
 But I've got the bottle-opener
 He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw
 And in the party party politics of this ugly fame
 There is no orderly queue