She's a terrible artist

I met her on the subway, she asked me what I do

I said that I sing in a band, and she said, "Hey, I do that too!"

She said her band was playing out next Tuesday at 9:00

So I went out to see her, but I was in for a shock

Well, I'm no Pavarotti, but she was ten times worse

And half the crowd had fled before she finished half a verse

I don't want to insult her, but the girl ain't got no culture

With a face like an angel and a voice like a vulture

Cause she's a terrible singer, but she thinks she can sing

With her voice alone she has caused untold suffering

She asked me how I liked it, and I didn't say a thing

She's a terrible, terrible singer, and she's mine

Now the singing stuff was bad enough, but there was worse to come

She painted with an arm that must have been completely numb

She showed me this new landscape that she had just done with oils

But it looked more like a meatloaf a couple days after it spoils

Cause she's a terrible painter, but she thinks she can paint

She thinks she's the next Picasso, but I can assure you that she ain't

She asked me how I liked it, and I said, "I feel faint"

She's a terrible, terrible painter, and she's mine

I'm glad that she's the creative type

And she expresses what's in her heart

But I'd rather eat a plate of tripe

Than take one more look at her art

It was then that I made the worst mistake of my romantic career

She asked if I wanted to read her new novel, and I said, "Absolutely, dear"

She said that of all her artistic endeavors she thought this one was the best

So I sat down to read it, and I think you know the rest

She's a terrible writer, but she thinks she can write

Against her powers, grammar and spelling can't even put up a fight

She asked me how I liked it, and I said it was all right

She's a terrible, terrible writer, and she's mine

She's a terrible sculptor, but she thinks she can sculpt

If I had my way all her papier-mâché would immediately be pulped

She asked me how I liked it, and I just smiled and gulped

She's a terrible, terrible sculptor, and she's mine

She's a terrible dancer, but she thinks she can dance

She writhes around like someone just poured pudding down her pants

She asked me if I'd join her, and I said, "Not a chance"

She's a terrible, terrible dancer, and she's mine

She's a terrible, terrible artist, and she's mine all mine