Oh, I wish I’d looked after me feet,
And spotted the perils beneath,
All the miles that I walked,
And the shoes that I bought,
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me feet.

*

I wish I’d been that much more willin’
And provided more space for the fillin’
To pass up winklepickers,
From respect to me kippers
And to buy something else with me shillin’.

*

When I think of the miles that I trekked,
And the hills that I climbed without a heck,
Potholes, big and little,
Ruined my feet, so very brittle,
My kippers are horribly fecked.

*

My Mother, she told me no end,
“Good feet are always your friends”
I was young then, and brainless,
My shoe choice so careless,
I never had much time to spend.

*

Oh I showed them the new shoes so bright,
I flashed them about with delight,
But up-and-down walkin’
And kickin’ and rushin’
Played havoc with my dainty delights.

*

If I’d known I was paving the way,
To verrucae, corns and decay,
The pain of arthritis,
Gout and detritus,
I’d have thrown all me show shoes away.

*

So I sit in the podiatrist’s chair,
And I hear his diagnosis in despair,
Telling me what I should have done,
And the shoes I should have donned,
“They’ll only last,” he’ll say, “for a few more days.”

*

How I laughed at my Mother’s false leg,
As she struggled with it clunkin’ beneath,
But now comes the reckonin’
It’s me it is beckonin’
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me feet.