If I can avoid it, I try not to speak ill,but of my girlfriend’s cooking, I’ve surely had my fill.
Though I want to take her out, she makes most of our meals
and we sit over dinners that taste like peels and seals!
I find I can’t eat much she cooks, at least not anymore.
And at this point my pants don’t fit the way they did before.
My belt is tightened daily. My shirts get looser still.
And if Gwen doesn’t feed me better, whither way, I will.
Gwen is cooking bad. I’m not glad. It’s so sad. It’s a tragedy.
If she could just learn not to burn but to turn it ’round more capably…
Gwendolyn is lousy, Gwendolyn’s no chef.
If only she were moved to improve, but alas, to change she’s tone-deaf.
Gwendolyn is awful. Gwendolyn’s no cook.
I fear she’s got her recipes out of some old spellbook!
I’ve been trying to broach the subject with my girl for weeks,
but I never reach the topic that I’m trying to seek.
I just flit around the area, graceless as could be,
as if I were a poledancer, working a Christmas tree.
Now, dancing for dollars doesn’t pay the rent,
when you tend to blend in with a burlap tent –
but I’ve been melting pounds off, with the weight I’ve lost,
so soon I’ll have a stripper’s bod, and then have twenties tossed (my way)!
Gwendolyn’s been cooking poorly, I’m had sorely anything but beets.
It’s a treat I can eat up any meat. I feel defeated!
Was this always Gwendy’s plan? What she began:
Starve her man, stop him eating everything she can?
Gwendolyn’s a genius. Gwendolyn’s in charge.
Now I’m looking like a kayak instead of a barge.
Gwendolyn is no chef. Gwendolyn’s no cook.
I think she’s got her recipes out of some old spellbook!