(verse 1): Oh how I wish, I could just swish up, That one special dish, That they thought was delish. But when I make something terrif, They pass out with only one whiff. And they say, "Take it away, throw the stuff out. Where there's a will, there is always some doubt. It may not be finished, but why mess about? It's probably yucky for sure. (verse 2--copy chords for verse 1) This soup's over done. That puree's too lumpy. My ring mold's too jumpy. My cakes way a ton. The turnip pie's burnt or it's raw. The soufflé just walked through the door. (Chorus)