Everyone says the same.
Though they can't remember his name,
He's neatly filed and placed
As The Man With Very Poor Taste.
He lives in a yellow semi
With a purple striped front door.
His son is green,
His wife is pink.
She works all day at a bright red sink
And she doesn't wear a hat in church.
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He's got a concrete garden
And curtains in his car
And a plastic hedge
And a wooden dog
And a garden pond with a marble frog
And he doesn't wear a collar in church.
But now that he's gone
They've nothing to say.
There's nothing for his wife
Now that he's passed away
And I think that's very poor taste.
Lyrics by Michael Palin
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