In big block chords and close harmony.
Our songs all sound the same,
And most of them are really lame;
But though we may not always inspire
At least we’re not a women’s choir.
First tenors have the highest voice,
for most of us it’s not by choice
Singing still at twenty-three
Like we missed our puberty,
When our pitch turns sour
We just sing a little louder
Tight underwear’s the key
To singing a high “C.”
Second tenors are not geeks
We’re just first tenors with poor techniques,
But should you love us any less
Just because we crack when we try to sing an “F?”
We don’t sing too high and we don’t sing too low
And we’re not as arrogant as the first tenors we know
We want you to love us like the rest
Of the “Pips” and “Garfunkels” who are second best.
Baritones are by far the sexiest.
Feast your ears upon our vocal studliness.
We will sing when we’re just forty-five
With vibratos five miles wide.
If God came down and took our brains away
Then they would sing “la donna mobile.”
We are tired of root progressions,
Walking bass lines, record sessions
Where are we sing is that stupid
“dip di dip dip dah.”
We try so hard with all our mights
To sing so low we shake the lights.
We wish we had voices like
James Earl Jones or Barry White,
But we’re just human, our throats are hurting
And our low singing sounds more like burping,
But we’re the basses we keep singing, ‘cause...
We are men and we like to sing
In big block chords and close harmony.
Our songs all sound the same,
Like bad rewrites of “There is nothing like a dame”
And though our repertoire consists
Of drinking songs and sailor songs
And barbershop quartets,
We thank God every day
From our head down to our toes
That we are not sopranos or altos.
(Or tenors).
Amen.
