Sinsull, don't you dare, you *@£$%^&!!!
My deranged Portuguese mother-in-law used to arrive out of the blue several times a year and head straight for the nearest piano (didn't matter whose it was - just had to be a piano; could be in the nearest pub, the local music shop or a neighbour's house, she'd find it) and would always launch straight into "Feelings..."; self-taught and not quite in the right key.
I can't hear it these days without wanting to reach for something with a bit of serious recoil...(and I don't mean a melodeon with bungees around the bellows, Liz)