A Fine Kettle Of Fish

I came home early, late one night, excitedly I ran
I snuck inside to be with her, but found another man
I pulled my gun and pointed it; he didn’t say a word
She screamed at me, I yelled right back and this is what they heard:

It’s a fine kettle of fish you’re in
The water’s to the brim
A fine kettle of fish you’re in
I hope that you can swim

She cried and claimed she loved me so, that this was just a fling
She said that he meant nothing, that he didn’t mean a thing
I laughed and said she was a fool to think I’d buy that line
That he meant nothing to her and that made it all fine

It’s a fine kettle of fish you’re in
The water’s getting hot
A fine kettle of fish you’re in
You’re boiling in my pot

Then she started screaming that she’d really had enough
She called me lots of vile names and said I’m not so tough
She said that any real man would never use a gun
The guy just looked worried; it seemed like he would run

It’s a fine kettle of fish you’re in
The water’s on the boil
A fine kettle of fish you’re in
You shoulda been more loyal

I threw the gun aside with pride and said I’d use my hands
But she got brave and tried to make ridiculous demands
The guy thought he’d try something slick, thinking I’d been goaded
He made a quick jump for the gun; I laughed - it wasn’t loaded

It’s a fine kettle of fish you’re in
The water’s overflowing
A fine kettle of fish you’re in
To Hell is where you’re going

I struck the guy upon his head just as he was retreating
She just sat there, terrified, her heart intensely beating
I turned to her; she tried to scream as I throttled her throat
I choked the life right outta her and that was all she wrote

It’s a fine kettle of fish you’re in
The water’s left the pot
A fine kettle of fish you’re in
And now you’ve had your lot

I sat right down and called the cops and told what happened there
They slapped the cuffs upon my wrists and said I’d get the chair
They didn’t buy my sad excuse and were unmoved by my woe
So now, I’m counting down the days in my cage on death row

It’s a fine kettle of fish I’m in
The water’s to the brim
A fine kettle of fish I’m in
I know that I can’t swim




(You may also enjoy this live performance of this work by Richard North on his blog, "The Arts Web Show")