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Leave that Thesaurus on the shelf
One word and one rhyme for yourself
No need to waste your breath here
Cause it's been done to death, Dear
Just like that old trick you applied
To write a song for you to hide
Behind a you that means an I
The show-off's way to be shy

I'm from a place of little point
We barely bend our stiffened joints
We sing when we're ashamed and
This is what we call entertainment

So here I sit with my guitar
My fingers only reach this far
Watch how they drape around the neck
They've made those shapes for decades
I'm waiting for that minor chord
It comes along and breaks my heart
That's cultural conditioning
And I've no problem with it
No, I've no problem with it

And when our Western bodies meet
The setting must remain discreet
We sing for we're ashamed and
This is our only entertainment

(What do you mean there's "elf"
I know, but come on...)