Friday Night Shakespeare Lyrics

If music be the food of love
Then rejection's food is canned
Heated through it's a lonely stew
In your only clean saucepan

The flat's in need of sweeping
But the ad break's nearly done
"Two team's struggling for respect tonight"
Says Sandy Robertson

The footy's let me down again
Stole my love away from them
Family's got to mean more than a team

Like everything the tele's smaller
Than the one at home
But without the wife and kids, it means
The remote control's your own

Then at the bounce down, with
Your eyes still on the screen You listen as sons voice comes
On your answering machine

"Hello Dad" he stumbles out
With his confidence affray
Can we come and see you next weekend
Mum said it was okay
Someone somewhere should coin a term
For the guilt that does befall
Who hears the answering machine
Then don't pick up the call

The interchages have been made:
The soup is on your knee
The telephone is god knows where
Aargh! the mongrels got a free
There's a tone after he hangs up
And a click as it expires
If music be the food of love
"Play on!" says the umpire

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