I'd make a terrible sous chef

I'm known as generally useless

I'll probably make up the recipe and then miss instructions 'cause the fan is too loud (Wha-what?)

I couldn't make it as a waiter

The only plates I lift are paper

I'll probably drop the fondue, which would lead to my execution in front of a crowd (Ah, ah!)

So give me just a second to get over myself

I promise that I'll do it like nobody else

If just another puzzle piece slid into place

I'd turn it around, and everything would be okay

Don't really fit in the lineup

I'm known for fucking the vibe up

I'm usually two steps behind, 'cause

I'm trying to hide that I don't get outside

I'm not that bad at doing dishes

Penance for fucking up the kitchen

I'm told it's good for reflecting on my flaws and myself, like I don't know I'm the problem

So give me just a second to get over myself

I swear to you, I'll do it like nobody else

If just another puzzle piece slid into place

I'd turn it around, and everything would be okay

So I try to survive with this wayward way of life

And pretend that salvation's coming due

And I work on my cooking, eating eggshells every morning

Scrubbing carbon off my pot lid, every mediocre omelette I imagined was for you

I just can't get this funny feeling out of myself

That I was meant to do it like nobody else

If I could just remove the part of me that felt

I'd rip it out, and everything would be okay