Make the cut

I wanna be a star, mama
Of the printmaking firmament,
So I jumped into my car, mama
And I bought myself a roll, of the best linoleum

Well I sharpened up my tools, mama
So I could make a print like Rew’s
But they won’t obey the rules, mama
They’re going off in all directions, and it
looks like number twos

Give me a sign oh won’t ya, mama
Will I ever make the cut?
Pour me a wine oh won’t ya, mama
I’m almost ready to give up

Thought I'd change it up a gear, mama
I hear reduction's all the trend
But I've been printing half a year, mama,
And still there's no sight of the end

Maybe I need a lighter touch, mama
I wanted this bit to be black
But then I slipped and cut too much, mama
And now I’ll never get it back

​I’m going psycho ain’t I, mama?
It’s caused me nothing else but grief
I blame the lino on it, mama
How the hell is this ‘relief’?

Well I'm filling up with doubt, mama
And my ink is full of crud
And my registration's out, mama
And I've just pulled another dud

I’ve got a band aid on each thumb, mama
Lost me a pint of blood, or three
And my arms are going numb, mama
Now my carpel is a’tunneled, and my back is killing me

I’m going psycho ain’t I, mama?
Don’t think I’ll ever make the cut
I blame it on the lino, mama
Oh mama, why don’t I just give up?

​Leon Payne, Psycho, 1968