None Mage Sudu None Lyrics by Gypsies

No, my fair lady, no, it wasn’t a thing I did on purpose
No, my fair lady, no, it wasn’t a thing I did on purpose
The bus broke down on the way, that’s the only reason I was late
There, that’s your old notebook, I’ve already read it
There, that’s your old notebook, I’ve already read it

Lying to your own wife, that’s all you’re good at
Won’t you just admit it? My nose says I’m never wrong
You brought a hat for the boy, give it to the little one, he’s asleep
Don’t sin with a false, made-up love, don’t try to fool us
Don’t sin with a false, made-up love, don’t try to fool us
Come home drunk like that again and don’t bother coming back here

Let me tell you the honest truth, if you’ll take it the right way
A friend called out to me, we had a little drink
Is even that such a big crime?
A friend called out to me, we had a little drink
Is even that such a big crime?

So why are you on at me? Have you no shame?
The bus stopped, my friend called out to me
Was it really right beside us?
The bus stopped, my friend called out to me
Was it really right beside us?

Give me a bit of slack, just come over here to me
Yes, I had a drink, I got delayed and came home late…
So now what is it you’re saying?
Yes, I had a drink, I got delayed and came home late…
So now what is it you’re saying?

Oh, that slack of yours, it’s all to your own advantage
The children need looking after, the washing needs doing…
And I’m left alone with all the trouble
The children need looking after, the washing needs doing…
And I’m left alone with all the trouble

Looking after the children, doing the housework at home
That’s your birthright, if you take it on, all the better
That’s your birthright, if you take it on, all the better
Looking after the children, doing the housework at home

So what you’re saying is, we have to suffer
You people get married
Is that what you got married for, is that it?
What you’re saying is, we have to suffer…

Scraping together for milk powder, struggling in the queues
Begging the boss, that’s why I can’t make it home
Our boss, I beg and grovel, that’s why I can’t get home…
Scraping for milk powder, suffering in the queues…

Just because I stand in the middle of the queue, does that make me less?
Don’t other men do work like yours?
Don’t other men do work like yours?
Just because I stand in the queue, does that make me less…

To this rotten luck, those words, to you people, for what you got
A field of words, crosswise, to give the two of you, so I think
My words, into four, even if I meant to give the two of you, here it is for me
The dose I give will land on you tomorrow

Daughter, son, listen to what I’m telling you
See if there’s a smile where there are no tears

If the two of you keep give and take in balance, that’s it
Married life is good, take it to heart today
Married life is good, take it to heart today
If you keep give and take in balance, that’s it

This is one of those Gypsies songs that plays out like a little family drama set to music, and anyone who grew up in a Sri Lankan home will recognise the scene at once. It is a married couple having it out, the kind of evening argument that happens in countless houses when the husband comes home late and maybe a little drunk, and the wife is waiting with her arms crossed. The song moves as a back and forth between them, his excuses and her comebacks, until an older voice, a parent, steps in at the end to settle them down.

It opens with the husband doing what husbands in these songs always do, talking his way out of trouble. “No, my fair lady,” he pleads, the bus broke down, that is the only reason he is late. The wife is having none of it. She has heard the excuses before, she says she has already read his “old notebook,” meaning she knows all his tricks by heart. Then comes the real accusation, that he has come home drunk, and her warning is sharp and very local in flavour: bring a friend and a bottle home again and don’t bother coming back. The detail of the hat brought for the sleeping little boy is a quiet, human touch in the middle of the fight, a reminder that for all the bickering this is still a home with children in it.

He keeps trying. A friend just called out to him at the bus stop, they had one small drink, is that really such a crime? She turns it straight back on him: a drink is one thing, but who is left holding the house together while he is out being sociable? Here the song gets to the heart of what it is really about, the unfair split of work in a marriage. He throws out the old line that minding the children and washing the clothes is her “birthright,” her natural job, and she pushes back hard, asking is this what marriage was supposed to be, just suffering for her. The husband then makes his own case, and it is a sympathetic one rooted in everyday Sri Lankan hardship: scraping together money for milk powder, standing in long queues, begging the boss for favours just to keep the family fed. “Polima,” the queue, lands with real weight for a Sri Lankan listener, the endless lines for scarce goods that whole families remember. He is not just lazy, he is worn down too.

The clever, funny turn comes at the end. An older relative, the “lokka” or elder the couple keeps invoking, finally weighs in to break the deadlock. There is a stretch of tongue-twisting, half-muttered lines (“a field of words, crosswise”) that capture an exasperated parent grumbling under their breath before laying down the lesson. And the lesson is plain and warm: listen, both of you, look for the smile even where there are tears. If the two of you keep give and take in balance, that is all it takes, and married life turns sweet. The whole song, for all its squabbling and comedy, lands on something gentle and true, that a marriage survives not on winning the argument but on each side giving a little.