He's been a blithe snore-giver
Since he wrote his very first song

He put some turdworthy melodies together
He makes you sick
When he writes his songs

He writes bad songs that make the whole world cringe
He writes bad songs that show that Barry's un-hinged
He writes bad songs that sound like dung hurled high
He's Manilow, he writes bad songs

His tone's like green spit and goo
And he's got sighed-moan-waste to be sold
Now, when you hear his music, you'll,
Cry, "Not again!", fearing more from Manilow

He writes bad songs that make the whole world cringe
He writes bad songs that show that Barry's un-hinged
He writes bad songs that sound like dung hurled high
He's Barry-Blow, he writes bad songs

Oh his music makes you sick
And hits your eardrum just like a brick
All he writes is schlock he molds when his can moves

His sick swill's a fart
And it's a real vile waste of art
It's from him
It's for you
It's for you
It's from he
It's his hurl-pile symphony

He writes bad songs that make the whole world cringe
He writes bad songs that show that Barry's un-hinged
He writes bad songs that sound like dung hurled high
Ban Manilow, or he'll write songs!
He'll make you sick,
When he writes his songs!