Last night I got home about half past ten.
I'd just been with woman number 2;
She thinks adultery's a sin.
She worked on crewel; her glare was cruel--
She'd like to be stitching my skin.
She knows, each night when I go out
That the office ain't what I'm in.

Oh, take this lecher, Maria,
Caress me as a wife,
Like the one I hump at home;
I live a double life.
Make me a fletcher, Maria,
Arrow's springing to life;
See it poppin' through my draw-ers,
Slicin' 'em like a knife.

Spouse suffers the slings and arrows
Of fortune, as in Shakespeare's "to be. . . ."
Sometimes when I'm home I feel
That I some night might cease to be.
My late "work" provokes fights;
With tension the air is rife.
I'm worried she'll lay
Not me but hand on knife.

Oh, tame this lecher, Maria,
She's stressing me, my wife.
I don't have a happy home,
And I fear for my life.
Shake me a wet one, Maria,
Let gin caress the ice.
I don't dare de-tog my draw-ers;
I fear nuts in a vise.

A man can love two women.
That's hard to understand?!
I'm for the lore and scripture
Of a young man who's named Brig-ham.
Though I don't really follow belief in Moroni,
It's not happ'nin', polygamous rites
Wife won't do no bigam with me

I'm on a stretcher, Maria,
She vented me, my wife.
She had really sharply honed
That large, greatly feared knife.
You're on a stretcher, Maria;
You too have felt the knife.
Spouse shoppin' for divorce lawyer.
Will you please be my wife?