Dear young matt Why has fate turned you around, and upside down? You left a wife, a boy of mere nineteen winters gone, gone for long It's well kosher that sunday roast I'll cook at nine Come over, that brown eyed baby will be mine Hitchin in hertfordshire Topless drinking frostie jack's 'It will screw you over, sunshine Dear old matt Why can love not suit you well? It's easy to dwell It's well kosher that sunday roast I'll cook at nine Just come over, that brown eyed baby will be mine Your fever must break away To flower, makes it hard to say Just if you're lonely then throw that roast away Put your shirt on, and see the light of day