Lyrics:
His mama sang sopprano at The Met
His dad was in the Juilliard Quartet
His brother played as well as Horowitz
His sister'd had a string of country hits
But he was tone deaf
He couldn't find his pitch
Tone deaf
By some genetic glitch
He couldn't tell an E flat from an F
The bass from treble clef
He was stone tone deaf
They tested him for blockage
Or a broken chromasome
He finally got the message
And ran away from home
He wandered sad and lonely 'till one night in Shrinigar (sp?)
He met a fascinating lady sitting in a bar...
Her mother was a prima ballerina
She had three sisters, each a brilliant trina
Her dad was a hooker extraordinaire
In fact her godfather was Fred Astaire
But she had no sense of rhythm
She couldn't feel the beet
She had no sense of rhythm
And two left feet
Her family danced but when she joined in with 'em
Ooh, the criticism
Cause she had absolutely no sense of rhythm
From the start, these tortured souls were tunelessly in tune
They danced together, clumsily, reciting Rod McHuin (sp?)
And when they wed their pain turned into never ending sun
They had a bunch of children and every single one was
Tone deaf and rhythmless combined
And also goofy looking
And also color blind
This story has a moral that is very hard to knock
Two black sheep is all it takes to start a flock
E-mail regarding this John Forster page (a person I am NOT) should be sent to either of the following:
To contact www.com-www.com staff, proceed to the contact page.