My Old Man’s A Dustman

My Old Man’s a dustman 

And it really doesn’t suit me 

Listen to my sorry tale, 

I’m sure you won’t refute me. 

’Cause when I need my Old Man 

For a shag or just a slash 

My Old Man is down your way 

Disposing of your trash. 


Early in the morning 

When I wake up with the horn 

My Old Man’s been round the streets 

Since the crack of dawn. 

He empties all the wheelie bins 

And loads them on the truck. 

But that’s no good to me now 

When I’m trying to have a fuck. 


Now I’m not one to stand in 

The way of his career. 

But how I really hate it 

When I find he isn’t here. 

At times when I am bursting 

And the pressure’s on my bladder, 

That’s when I need my Old Man 

Instead of getting madder. 


I wish that he could find a job 

Where he could work from home 

Instead of being out all day 

Where on the streets he’ll roam. 

Some say I shouldn’t moan so much 

And ought to be more lenient, 

But my Old Man’s a dustman 

And it’s bloody inconvenient. 



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