It's not like in the movies
I've got to tell you straight, my dear,
It's not like in the movies.
There's no such thing as L-shaped sheets
To cover women's boobies.
Girls and guys don't hide their bits
When chilling out, post coitus.
Woman don't wear bras in bed
(The under wire annoys us.)
You can have sex past twenty three –
I know that may sound shocking!
And apple pies are for your tea
And not to put your cock in.
A soundtrack is a fine idea,
But silence can be saner.
There's nothing worse that making love
To tune of the Macarena.
The deed can be spontaneous
(Don't wear unusual pants!)
But if you both lead busy lives
You can book in advance.
There's no such thing as romance, love,
Sometimes the earth don't shake.
And sex can be a fun pastime
For the Corrie advert break.
Just don't expect to look your best:
You'll sweat and wheeze and stink.
And please remember this, my dear,
Your drive is dulled by drink.
Your hair won't stay in place, my love,
With all those thrusts and grabs.
And you won't chose positions
Based on showing off your abs.
Candles are a fire risk;
Rose petals give you rashes.
And genitals are meant to have
Small, neatly trimmed moustaches.
Cellulite and stretch marks, dear,
On screen are still anathema.
But you don't need to worry
(Though you'll never win a BAFTA.)
Spotty backs and hairy toes
Are not film-makers' fare
But we're not having sex with them
So I don't think we should care.
In real life sex is messy, loud;
You'll never come in tandem,
And as for who you'll fall for, dear,
The pattern's fairly random.
It's not about aesthetics, love,
It's all about the feeling.
A rush of passion so intense
You'll need scraping off the ceiling.
While not a beautiful affair,
It's fun, fantastic, free!
Go on, indulge! You'll have a ball –
But I don't need to see.