A long, song-singing show
Always I look forward to those singers who can make me smile
Well they say if they have their chance
They’ll put those judges in a trance
‘Cause baby, they can sing it out with style
Then January came, they shivered; with every off-key note delivered
When you sang, heard crickets; and didn't get gold tick-et
I do remember that you cried when they said get out, you've been denied
But something sparked your creepy side, the day they told you "Bye"

It's Idol, the American kind
Was a bevy who were leggy and the heavies sang high
Them good ol' boys can't sing a lick but they try
Singing, "Simon, gonna spit in your eye"
Simon says, "So long now, bye-bye"

Did you hear that set of lungs?
And we hope we don't see William Hung
Like we did six years ago
Now can you sing songs of rock with soul?
Can music give you ticket: gold?
And will you be in Hollywood next show?

Well we know that you don't have good friends
If you did, they'd not let you pretend
That you can sing the blues
'Cause you sound like someone's sick goose
Sing like a homely teenaged honking duck
With a strange vibration and a vocal cluck
But we knew that you were out of luck; you made the judges cry

And we we watching: Idol, the American kind
Lots of lazies who are crazy, see the glaze in their eyes
Expressing joy then singing ditzy and dry
Judges: "Isn't your gift, please end your tries"
"Think your voice is hurting my...eyes"

Now for some years, I have watched this show
Have they heard themselves? I need to know
Some sound like an abused ban-shee
Do these people sing with an injured spleen?
'Cause it sounds like that, the way they scream
With a voice that's lame and way off key

Oh, and while the judges look and frown
These "singers" try to shout them down
For stardom they do yearn
No talent have they earned
And while Simon had a look perplexed
Their vocal chords the singers flexed
And I had urges to be sexed, the way she's moving...my!

She was swinging! Idol, the American kind
All the beauties and the cuties with the booties so fine
Them bad ol' boys were thinking risky and pie
Singing: "Man, if I could just have a try"
"Know that chick be diggin' this guy"

"Helter Skelter" is a bummer belter
The words all wrong for audition stellar
Eight notes high and falling fast
Don't believe that they will last
The singers tried for the golden pass
With the judges on the frontlines, can't get past

Now In Hollywood the stars will bloom
Pretenders face a certain doom
Don't like it when you dance
No, you just gonna hurt your chance
'Cause the singing is what makes the deal
The dancing fool will be repealed
But it's helpful having sex appeal, the day the music's tried

And they're all singing; Idol, the American kind
Give him candy maybe Randy will say "Dandy, dawg, nice!"
That one home boy had crazy look in his eye
Saying, "Cara, don't say no or I'll die"
"We were meant to be, you and I"

Oh, and then was one who sang with grace
And even had a pretty face
Hot body looked to be a ten
So come on, bang the cymbal, she's the pick
She sounds just like that famous chick
So hire her, you'll revel in the end

And old guy, I watched him on the stage
And "Pants on the Ground" a new rage
His wisdom, you could tell
On just one issue dwell
And as he sang his song out with delight
To blight the superficial plight
I saw people laughing left and right
The day the old man tried

He's a singing: Idol, the American kind
Was a rant-down on the pants down and the hats to the side
A good old guy just singing what's on his mind
Saying, "Teach them boys to show their behinds"
"Bust their chops until I go blind"

I saw a girl who sang confused
And she tried to sing a sappy tune
The judges smirked and turned away
She did sound like a wounded boar
The kind of thing Simon's said before
What the people were all thinking anyway

And on the stage the singers gleamed
The clueless cried and the winners beamed
And many dreams were broken
And some should not be opened
And the people I admire most:
The humble ones; don't think they can coast
Don't like the ones who always boast
I pray, they tell you...bye

And no lip synching....
Idol, the American kind
Get that heavy off the Chevy or we'll levy a fine
Forget the words you're sinking quickly, goodbye
Singing, all that you can do is just try
Singing ain't a gift you can buy

And I'm singing......
Why, why do Americans try
To be singers, they're just blingers with the stars in their eyes
Be satisfied with karaoke at night
Singing just to have some fun, it's all right