Well, I don't care to eat out in smart restaurants. 

I'd rather do a Vindaloo: take away is what I want. 

I was down at the old Bengal, having telephoned a treat 

when I saw her framed in the kitchen door. 

She looked good enough to eat. 

(And I mean eat.) 

She was a tall thin girl. 

She looked like a tall thin girl. 

She said, ``Whose is this carry-out?'' 

My face turned chilli red. 

Well, I don't know about carrying out, 

but you can carry me off to bed. 

(And I mean bed.) 

She was a tall thin girl. 

She moved like a tall thin girl. 

Maybe I can fetch for it, 

and maybe I can stretch for it. 



I may not be a fat man and I'm not exactly small 

but when it all comes down, couldn't stand my ground. 

This girl was tall. 

(And I mean tall.) 



Big boy Doane, he's a drummer. Don't play no tambourine 

but he's Madras hot on the bongo trot, 

if you know just what I mean. 

Stands six foot three in his underwear; 

going to get him down here and see 

if this good lady's got a little sister `bout the same size as me. 

She was a tall thin girl. 

She looked like a tall thin girl. 

Well, can I fetch for it? 

Well, maybe I can stretch for it? 

Well, am I up for it? Or do I have to go down for it?