Queer
He sits in his room,
playing with his dolls.
No one thought of flittiness at all.
You won't see him with The Youth Ahead,
or at those nudie bars.
He wouldn't fall in love with those girls.
His mom thinks he's gay.
His mom thinks he's gay.
His mom thinks he's gay.
His mom thinks he's a flamer.
He receives the postcards with those beefy guys
You know when his mom sees them she cries.
A passion for males was all it ever seemed.
Now his life, it can't be redeemed.
His mom thinks he's gay.
His mom thinks he's gay.
His mom thinks he's gay.
His mom thinks he's a flamer.
Raro
Él está en su habitación,
jugando con sus muñecas.
Nadie pensó en afeminamiento en absoluto.
No lo verás con The Youth Ahead,
ni en esos bares nudistas.
No se enamoraría de esas chicas.
Su mamá piensa que es gay.
Su mamá piensa que es gay.
Su mamá piensa que es gay.
Su mamá piensa que es un marica.
Recibe las postales con esos tipos musculosos
Sabes que cuando su mamá las ve, llora.
Una pasión por los hombres era todo lo que parecía.
Ahora su vida, no puede ser redimida.
Su mamá piensa que es gay.
Su mamá piensa que es gay.
Su mamá piensa que es gay.
Su mamá piensa que es un marica.