Nobody wants to be moist A bunch of overactive pores I struggle opening doors And I lose every tug of war Nobody wants to be wet Though sweet soul I do secrete Can't make damp fingers snap to the beat The microphone is dripping My baritone is slipping A rhyme into this line I'll have to foist Nobody want to be moist Nobody wants to be moist Though on the dance floor I glide On stairs I'm petrified (That's how Harry Wismer died) Nobody wants to be soaked Though it is with a graceful ease I deduce in which way blows the breeze Oh sure I have the power To make paste from a powder But last time I did that no one rejoiced Nobody want to be moist A man so ancillary My little song is buried Not till the Commentary is it voiced Nobody wants to be Nobody wants to be Nobody wants to be moist