It's not sharp, babe. . .use it to smear
Oils uncut with turpentine.
It's no jackknife; can't cut off an ear
Like van Gogh did. "Ouch!" I'd whine.

So with that unsharp knife, I will smear, babe,
Scarlet billows. . .carvin' red.
Don't need gloves or keep it sheathed, babe;
It's nearly dull as the president's head.

Down my side, globs, uh-oh, goo! runnin' from tube, oh no!
On my body the oozin's rife. . .green!
Guess it sneaked out as I's pourin'
Some onto my palette knife.

It's a thug's boat (thug, lug mug) down by the river, my tableau,
And a demented man prowls the poop deck with frown.
He is demented because he has to wait here. . .
Got a drivin' yen for mad Dick to be found.

Now sometimes I'm using filler
As there appears, babe,
Where my drawin's cut a pushed-too-hard gash.
Irony: mend cut with impaler:
My knife is employed to plug that slash.

See, men from dives come to the sloop tawdry;
New Bedford had lotsa men, yeah, in this loser town.
It's the lights causin' the plight, babe--
Gas drivin' whale-oil price down.

OK, I got the knife stirred to smooth on tawny
Hue, and I'm sloppin' on red, yeah and loopin' in brown.
I use white for the guy's face, babe,
To foreshadow, that he'll drown.

Look out! Here comes a whack-fin splash!