Ain't it a pretty voice?

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The tone's so dark and velvet-like
And I sound like such a star.
Iím like a great big CD
Remixing Freni and Lily Pons.
Now that Iím a star, Little Matt,
The harder you book, the more my fee.
I'm singing too heavy by far,
So I go flat in the upper-middle
And cover my top notes
In imitation of Schwarzkopf
All mixed with Streisand.

Ainít it a pretty voice?
Just think, those fans can all peep down
And scream way above where I can.
They can scream like the Fleming Flappers
In Paris and Salzburg and Bayreuth.
I bet they all read Out out there --
Those fans, those Fleming Flappers --
Where the guys talk nice
And the guys dress nice
Like you see in the all-male catalogs.

I aim to sing Traviata some day
And learn the notes myself
To sing all the high options
And take the E-flat
And to take all of them bows myself.

I wonder if Iíd get lonesome for the Mozart though,
For the sound of critics praising ďDove sonoĒ
For soft little high notes and scoopiní things
And Cecilia kickiní Bryn in the balls.
But I could always come back
If I got homesick for the Mozart.
Iíll sing Mozart one day, and Verdi the next
Then Iíll sing pop, and then Iíll cross back
When Iíve seen how to win them Grammies!

Ainít it a pretty voice?
I sing so heavy and dark tonight
Youíd think I was Fedora BarbieriÖ
I cover my top
I cover my top
In imitation of Schwarzkopf and Streisand.


More queer humor from parterre box