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?