"What is she wearing tonight my friend" how the hell do I know,
I am always at the end. It's just my luck when she buys something new,
I get shoved to the end of the queue.
It's all right for you my friends, you get a weekly check but poor old
me has to hang in here by the neck.
If nothing goes right with her hair or hide,she chucks me in the wardrobe
then locks me inside.
You live in draws that are kept nice and fresh, but I have to hold up her
smelly old dress.
That perfume she uses just makes me gag and you should smell the tobacco
when she has had a fag.
When madams in a hurry she won't bother with the door, she stripes me down completely
then throws me on the floor.
One night she came home as drunk as a sack, she came flying through the door
and nearly broke my back; her foot got caught round my wire frame, then she threw
me to the wall as if I was to blame.I have been used and abused and so as my mates, especial when when she goes on those dreadful blind dates.
We all hate it when she has had a clear out because we all have to say goodbye,
because there is only a few of us that are aloud a second try.
Well goodbye to you all it's my turn on the road, I suppose this is known
as The Coat Hanger Code.
Chucked in a black bag with all old bits of rag accompanied by the smell of
a dirty old fag.
I am now at a Jumble Sale and hanging on a rack, holding up a dress that looks
like a sack.
Where do I go from here that's what's going through my brain. I suppose
I will end up poking out someones drain.
Were not much good as hangers, once we have passed our best but the poor old
metal coat hanger has surely been put to the test.
