Famous Painter

By convincing women I was a famous painter
I got them to pose naked for me last summer
You’d be surprised what people will do
when you wear a beret,
and a long yellow robe,
and speak with an accent,
and carry an easel,
and a bag labeled “paint”,
and a paintbrush tucked behind your ear

I told them my name was Pierre August LeDouche
I painted while the record player played Scaramouche
I said “Let’s begin with a sketch of your touche, and go from there”

I told them all I’m a direct descendant of Maurice Frederique Giuseppe
Gianumberto LeDouche
I told them all “If it makes you uncomfortable to take off your clothes, I’ll remove
mine as well”
It sometimes worked.

I said “I’ll make you live forever, long after you’ve split.
With that, would you mind leaning over a bit?
In the twenty-third century, they’ll want to see your tit really clearly.”

And that was the summer
sixteen different women
came over twice a week,
took off all their clothes,
while I smoked cigarettes and drank wine and said “bootiful”
and smiled and pretended to paint

I had to remember to maintain an accent
But after a while I didn’t even really have to think about it

The end of the summer was by far the hardest part
Having to explain the destruction of these great works of art
By fire, by flood, and by hooligans with darts

But that’s the trouble with a painting
Next summer, I’ll try sculpture instead!


(lyrics: Dan Bern)

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