Northern Debbie
Some things you can't forget 'em,
Here's one I haven't yet;
The wedding do in Streatham
Where me and Debbie met.
She was a guest like I was,
With Debbie one thing's sure:
I fell in love, the high was
Like none I'd had before.
I saw her and was smitten,
Her dress was short and peach,
An English rose, a kitten,
Yet she was out of reach.
For she was with a fellow,
A charmer known as Rod,
His tie was grey and yellow,
I thought 'You lucky sod.'
The party grew much louder,
I lost her in the throng,
The bride's old man looked prouder,
The groom's mum sang a song.
With noise and good cheer growing
Somebody spiked a drink,
Who picked it up not knowing?
Come on, who do you think?
I staggered, I tried dancing,
The pint from hell was free,
I stumbled while advancing
When Debbie spoke to me.
She knew that I was slaughtered,
She knew the brew I'd copped
And yet she never faltered;
She held my hand and bopped.
They must have put some Smirnoff
And rum and scotch in there,
A drunkard is a turn-off
But Debbie didn't care.
Her necklace held a black jewel,
She told me it was jade,
She said she came from Blackpool
And liked T. Rex and Slade.
She said she'd been a model
And owned some tasteful snaps,
She said (though I spoke twaddle)
I wasn't like most chaps.
A hit by Fleetwood Mac sent
Us wild, to her surprise
I liked her northern accent,
I loved her hazel eyes.
The next song was much slower,
Besotted and well wrecked,
My wandering hands moved lower
And then at last we necked.
I don't know if Rod saw us,
Where was he in the hall?
No angry bloke came for us
While we both had a ball.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
There'll never be another,
We only met once more,
By then she was a mother
And nearly thirty-four.
Though not much rhymes with Debbie,
If I reach a low ebb
I think about the great night
I danced with northern Deb.
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