As I walked into the charity storeI saw a second-hand shirt hangin’ up by the doorThe collar was frayed, there was a stain on the cuffCaused by ketchup or blood or some such stuffIt wasn’t made of polyester or nylonThe label said made in the uk so I tried it onAnd I looked in the mirror and declaredI like this shirt, I want itIt’s not the label on the shirt that you wearIt’s the way that you wear itThey say it’s style and breeding and culture that countsBut you can’t change good taste on the expense accountAnd if design or fashion makes you a heroYou can dress all highbrow but still be an emotional zeroBut I declare it’s not the shirt you wearIt’s the way that you wear itI was looking for danger, I should have taken more careI was dressed to kill, I felt so debonairWild expectations, arrogant airThen I walked into that bar, she was standing thereI walked over with all my savoir fairAnd she said you’re a smart looking dudeBut your character’s ugly, it clashes with my shoesAnd i, I can’t stand your attitudeI assumed it was leading to a romantic interludeI thought my conquest was madeBut I was stunned by the magnitudeOf her ingratitudeI spent a good thirty bucks on this babeLike the shirt I was wearingThis romantic affair was not destined to lastThe harder I tried, the louder she laughedI was reduced to despair, my emotions laid bareShe knew I was hurt, made me feel like a jerkI was humbled, humiliated, castratedMy masculinity dragged through the dirtThen thrown in the air to be devoured by the lionsThe vultures, the jackals and all the scavengers of loveI was strutting around with my chest stuck outLike a peacock preparing to get laidThought I looked cool but she put me downShe said you look like a clown on a circus paradeStill the shirt has class, it looks well madeShe was a babe of the first degreeShe was totally fantabulousLike a goddess from greece and yetThe epitome of the 20th century femininityShe was in her own leagueShe was meant for me, it was destinyLike adam and eve, synchronisityShe brought out the testosterone in meLast time I saw that babe she was smiling contentedlyNow I’m trapped on this murder rap, a mistaken identityIt wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t meNow this cop says it’s up to you, death row or solitudeCrime of passion, you should plead ’insane’You say you wouldn’t lie, but we’ve just blown your alibiWe’ve found your shirt and it’s got a blood stainIt was the shirt you were wearingIt was the shirt you were wearing