Sometimes I think
We speak different languages
Yours is so thick and harsh and punc-tu-a-ted,
And mine, mellow and soft and op-en-heart-ed.
When we walk around, people stare and glare,
Looking at some interracial couple
From the nineteen-twenties'
But you know what?
They're just freakin' tone-deaf;
Our harmonies are way too
Avant-garde