Oh, I'd rather eat the rubber off the bottom of an old shoe
Than partake of this mess that she claims is a salad.
Then she brings out the main course;
A lump of dog sh*t called meatloaf that comes from an animal
That no one knows the name of.

And when it's time into the bathroom and kneel before the toilet
And then puke my guts out right in it's clear and jewelled waters.
And when I think I'm ready,
She will bring out the dessert; It's a slice of pie with whipped cream.
That I'm convinced expired.

She thinks she will be known as the next Julia Child.
She makes bread, she makes steak,
And she stuffs them both with garlic.
And then she'll know the things she learned
In cooking class were horrid. In the end, she will surely know
Her food's not fit to swallow.