No critique could save this show

For
no

critique 
could save
this show. 

'Cause I'm the artist, 
man. I know. 'Cause 
I'm a fan, aff-ish-nyah 
-doe. No cognoscenti, 
snob! Although, 

my rigor taste 
critique sits foul
upon my works, 
upon me now. 

The better part 
of crit is praise! 
I honor it in 
accurate ways.

Which is just why 
and to be fair, 
I call this foul 
- thankfully rare. 
But that sure was.  

A critic great 

can easily see 
I am a so-so artist, 
me.

 
And
I'm a
critic, great
and proud. However good
it does me now. Humiliate 

this humble star! 
'Fore lofty crowd! 

But wait, except - they
sure do think I joke. 

Well I (would) never,
and I'll never yet! Jump 
up such nerve, such gall 
to stand up here
to get 

laughed at!
I hope, 
I hope we'll
laugh 

with it, someday. 

Some joke

Call curtain bowing down, 
call all a play, and let's 
get butts off
seats. 

File out, go 
now 

and leave 

Me misery, no company, 
in solitude's where wallow 
is. There's awful play in it, 

you see

And I play not. 
That's just the biz