I think he's clueless.

I think he's clueless,
And overwrought -
Thinks he's romantic,
Who thinks he's hot?
His song is on the top ten,
Yet it is nothing new -
Same old tunes and words reclaimed,
From treacly goo.

Those weenie songs,
Those weenie songs,
Those weenie songs,
That sell.
Those sincere odes,
With saccharine modes,
Have such a hypnotic spell -
Although critics think they smell.

The latest song,
I hear everywhere,
No matter where I turn,
It's on the air.
It's embedded in our minds -
We just can't get away -
They played it at the Boston Pops,
Independence Day!

Those weenie songs,
Those weenie songs,
Those weenie songs -
There's more.
Men will compose,
Poesy and prose,
They think women want to hear.
They will keep bending ears.

Wo - ohh, wo - ohh, wo - ohh
Wo - ohh, wo - ohh, wo - ohh
Wo - oh - oh, wo - ohhhhhhh

Those weenie songs,
Those weenie songs -
They make the world
Go 'round.
They keep making money,
Because tastes never change,
So stupid songs always abound.

If you can't lick them, join them -
What goes 'round comes around!

I don't feel too well. Will somebody please give me an aspirin?