Artie, the tragic fat guy, told Howard he was through.
His gigs dried up, his cash ran out and his sitcom really blew.
Little Jackie Martling, had done it all before.
His career went nowhere when he walked out Howard’s door.

Artie, the tragic fat guy, told Howard he was through.
His gigs dried up, his cash ran out and his sitcom really blew.
Artie, the tragic fat guy, told Howard he was through.
His gigs dried up, his cash ran out and his sitcom really blew.

He became so nasty, his friends all went away.
His gambling habit got so bad, he lost ten bets a day.
He kept right on drinking, shot up every hour.
He’d eat his weight in cappacola, and never took a shower.

Artie, the tragic fat guy, told Howard he was through.
His gigs dried up, his cash ran out and his sitcom really blew.
Artie, the tragic fat guy, told Howard he was through.
His gigs dried up, his cash ran out and his sitcom really blew.

Fat guys don’t live forever, Artie finally died.
He’d pissed so many people off that no one really cried.
His mother got his house, his sister drove his car.
No one was surprised that Artie never got that far.

His head was so enormous, a coffin wouldn’t fit.
They buried him at Fishkills, because he smelled like shit.
They didn’t have a viewing, he was much too broke.
The only ones that would have come were the guys he blew for coke, Oh…

Artie, the tragic fat guy, told Howard he was through.
His gigs dried up, his cash ran out and his sitcom really blew.
Artie, the tragic fat guy, told Howard he was through.
His gigs dried up, his cash ran out and his sitcom really blew.