Sudu Nona Lyrics by Gypsies

Madam, my fair madam, what a mess this turned out to be //
The bus broke down on the way, that’s why I was late

(F)
Oh, I’ve already read that old book of yours //
A man lying to his own wife, now that’s an ugly thing

So you won’t believe me? I haven’t done a single thing wrong //
I brought a cap for the boy, so where is the little one, asleep?

(F)
Don’t go making up lies, don’t try to fool us //
Don’t come home after this with a bellyful of drink

I’ll tell you the honest truth,
if you’ll only accept it,

A friend called out to me, I had just a little drink,
is even that such a big crime? //

(F)
What’s the use of my mouth then,
have you no shame at all?

The bus stopped, a friend called out to me,
was there a tavern nearby? //

He gave me a bit of an easy time,
“Madam, come right onto my shoulder”

Yes, I took a drink, I came home late,
madam, now what is it you’re saying? //
Oh, this easiness of yours,

(F)
The advantage is all yours …..
The children need looking after, the clothes need washing,
all the trouble falls on me alone //

Looking after children and getting the housework done,
it would be good if you knew that this is your duty
it would be good if you knew that this is your duty
Looking after children and getting the housework done
You’re saying we’re the ones who must suffer,
is that the understanding you got married on?
is that the understanding you tied the knot on?
You’re saying we’re the ones who must suffer

Oh, searching for milk powder, suffering in the queues,
running into the boss is the only way I get out at all
running into our boss is the only way I get home
searching for milk powder, suffering in the queues

(F)
If I stand in the middle of the queue, is that a loss?
Among those young women, don’t you have a bit of fun too?
Among those young women, don’t you have a bit of fun too?
If I stand in the middle of the queue, is that a loss?

By bad luck you got that mouth of yours,
I’ve a mind to tear that ugly mouth in four

(F)
You may have a mind to tear my mouth in four,
but the blow I deal you, you’ll get it back tomorrow

Daughter, son, listen to what I’m telling you,
see whether a smile can come where there are no tears,
if the giving hand and the taking hand are balanced, there it is,
married life is rich and full, know that today,
married life is rich and full, know that today,
if the giving hand and the taking hand are balanced, there it is

This is one of the Gypsies’ best loved comic songs, a husband and wife squabble set to music. It plays out as a back and forth between a man who has rolled home late and his fed up wife, with each verse answering the last like a real argument across the kitchen. The “F” markings in the lyric just signal where the female voice takes over, so you can almost hear the two of them firing back at each other.

The man opens with the oldest excuse in the book. He calls her “sudu nona,” fair lady, sweet and flattering, and swears the bus broke down, that he only had a small drink because a friend called him over, that he even brought a cap home for their little boy. His wife is not buying any of it. She tells him she has read this old story before, that a man lying to his own wife is an ugly thing, and warns him not to come home soaked in drink again. The teasing detail is sharp: she asks if there just happened to be a tavern next to where the bus conveniently stopped.

What lifts the song above a simple drinking joke is where it goes next. The fight turns into the wife laying out everything she carries. She is the one minding the children, washing the clothes, standing for hours in the queues hunting for milk powder. That line about queues and shortages places the song firmly in a Sri Lanka of rationing and scarcity, when getting a tin of milk powder meant waiting in a long line, and it is her daily grind while he is off having his “small drink.” When he sourly jabs that she must enjoy standing among all the young people in the queue, she throws it right back: aren’t you the one having fun out there? The threats get cartoonishly heated too, him wanting to tear her mouth in four, her promising he’ll get the same blow back tomorrow, but it stays affectionate rough and tumble, not real cruelty.

Then the tone softens and the song shows its hand. The closing verse drops the quarrel and speaks gently to the children, daughter and son, almost like an elder offering a lesson. The heart of it is one plain image: a smile cannot grow where there are no tears, and a marriage stays rich only when the giving hand and the taking hand are balanced, when both partners give and both take in fair measure. For all the shouting about late buses and milk queues, that is the message underneath, that married life works when the load is shared. It is the Gypsies at their best, wrapping a small piece of homespun wisdom about marriage and fairness inside a song that makes a whole room laugh.