I regretta, Henrietta,
my dog etta your poinsetta,
but he's paying . . . is quite queasy.
You should seea his nausea;
your planada's getting even.

My dear frienda, Henrietta,
when you speaka, please do not spita.
I have hearda you are easy
but I think it's a vendetta.
All the guys you see aren't breathin'.

You do painta, Henrietta,
all the corpses with a smila.
It's your business . . . isn't sleazy.
You don't have a steady fella
'cause it seems on you they're dyin'.

I regretta, Henrietta,
screaming loud when you played tuba;
that your smokin' makes me sneezy.
Are you really going to Cuba
to 'paint' guys afore they're shippin'?

My dear frienda, Henrietta,
I regretta things I saida.
It's no wonder you are witchy.
Here's a newa red poinsetta.
Now my frienda stop your grievin'.

Don't forgetta, Henrietta,
Butch is gone now 'cause he etta
your poinsetta. Show me mercy,
tell those spirits: 'no vendetta'.
You're leavin' and we're even.

Adiosa Henrietta!

Aside: Whoo! Thank God she packed up and left!
I'm sad I e'er metta Henrietta!