I hope he's not a f*g
I hope he's not a drag queen
I hope he's not a queer
I hope he's not a Ms. Thing
Although I have to say
That with each pa**ing day
I have a few more doubts
I think he's gay
He drives a Karmann Ghia
With pink interior
Has such lovely taste
It makes mine seem inferior
In the hottest weather
He wears pants of leather
With a cap to match
I think he's gay
Oh, if I only had the chance
I'd be his lovely girl
And if I only had the chance
I know we'd dance and twirl
But he'd much rather swim to France
Than kiss a girl
If I had muscles and a tan
A face like Superman
With something in my jeans
Well, then he'd probably marry me
He speaks of Jane Russell
And how he loves The Hustle
Talks like Liberace
Walks like Wilma Flintstone
Though it sounds far-fetched
But when we're playing catch
His wrists seem unattached
Why do his clothes all match?
Why won't he touch my snatch?
I think he's gay