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