I may never be a painter With pigment, shell, and brush My angels seem to swagger And my devils seem to blush And I think I'll never fancy Being scared of poison dust But I've tried it, and may try it yet again I don't think I could embroider On a swatch of linen fine My patience seems to wander As I paint each tiny line Though I rather like the colors I just never have the time But I've tried it, and may try it yet again Well I thought of learning fighting But I haven't got a truck And I always get a bruising Even if my shield arm's up And I'm still a little nervous That they make you wear a cup But I've tried it, and may try it yet again I've puttered in the kitchen With a dish or two I'll cope But after ten or twenty-five I reach my end of rope I am only good with dishes When I'm rubbing them with soap But I've tried it, and may try it yet again Well I must be good at something Something rare and undefined Like raising bats for hunting Maybe adding spice to wine And perhaps I'll be a laurel Or I'll put it all behind But I'll try it, and may try it yet again Oh, I will try it, and may try it yet again