With a face like a crab's bus ticket   And skin like a llama's door mat   He was always gonna struggle   Nature had seen to that      He dreamt of those old-fashioned movies   Where Bogart gets the dame   But a lorry load of Lorre   Is still the score of pain      And he sings   I may be ugly   But I've got the bottle-opener   He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw   And in the party party politics of this ugly fame   There is no orderly queue      With a chin like a tramp's juke-box   And eyes like a rhino's ash-tray   It was always going to be pantomime   That made him sing and dance anyway      When you feel like London   And you look like Hull   You think Travolta pulled Newton - John   Who did John Hurt pull?      And they compliment the compliment   And it's driving you insane   It's like talking to a helicopter   When you know that you're a plane      Breath like a mountain goat's satchel   Nose like a pool of sick   But you always leave your flies ahoy   'Cause the world wants to suck your dick   Let it suck!      And he sings   I may be ugly   But I've got the bottle-opener   He may be fat but he's got the cork-screw   And in the party party politics of this ugly fame   There is no orderly queue