I'm a snivelin' man,
Can't get my voice to drop,
I sound like a girl.
And each time I start,
Folks near me depart
'Cause my speech makes their hair curl.

"¡Es pequeño Señor Squeaker!"
That's how they bait me
In macho Mexico.
Try to make my voice raspier
By drinkin' tequila, smokin' Marlboro.

On the piste, fall line,
Where I'm hurtlin' down
Slope and make a quick turn,
There I find a girl,
Expound--she's long gone,
Never to return.

My appalling speech, like baby's,
Pitched in high C,
My screech timbre a fright.
If I talked gravelly, I mightn't be
In this hellish vocal plight.

Woe, I'm a sniveling man,
Yeah, I'm a sniveling man. . . .