Pop Star - Sudden Death

OK, who’s next?

Hi, My name’s Jason

And I’m going to sing Somewhere Over The Rainbow

OK.

Go for it

(Really bad) Somewhere over the rainbow/ Way over there

Oh dear Lord.

You think you’s a pop star, but you need to stop singin'

I think you should leave now, till my ears have stopped ringin'

You can’t sing worth shit, and you can’t dance worth shit

What makes you think that if you cut a song it’d be a hit

We do this all the time, some people soundin' fine

But others sound like they’re committing sins against mankind

This girl she looks fine, she wants to get signed

Her mouth opens and it sounds like gears when they grind

I tell them all the time, send shivers down my spine

They start to bitch and whine, and tell me I’m a swine

They think they sound like gold, and I’m the one they loathe

But they’re all screamin' like they leaned against a hot stove

So I send them away, and they all feel betrayed

But even Paula doesn’t have anything nice to say

You think you’s a pop star, but you need to stop singin'

I think you should leave now, till my ears have stopped ringin'

When you try to hit a note, you sound like a sea lion

You been singin' for your whole life, you need to stop tryin' (repeat)

Damn homie, you sound like

A dying lamb, homie, the hell’s up with that?

And then up next is Loretta, and I’m sorry I met her

'Cause when she finished her song, I thought I’d need a rib spreader

She thinks that she can do better, sing just like Eddie Vedder

She thinks I’m out to get her, like I had a vendetta

She look good, but she howls like an Irish Setter

She’s trying to start the song over but there’s no way I’m-a let her

Get out now, stop the bleeding, don’t wanna hear another word

'Cause you’re the worst singer that I think I’ve ever heard

I’ve heard enough now, I’m suicidal

And she still thinks she’s the next American Idol

You think you’s an idol, but your sound is all dull

Awful and an eyefull, stole your style from Paula

You know that she’s washed up, and that you’re no heart-throb

You are absolutely ghastly, don’t quit your day job

Me I’m no monster, me I’m not raptor

Me I’m not mentor, me I’m just me, me

Me I’m no singer, me I’m no actor

But it’s me who owns the record company

Now your singing baby was a total mess

You sang flatter than Ally McBeal’s chest

And yet you think that you’re good, and ready for prime time

But there’s no future for you, well maybe as a mime

Losers sayin' that they don’t like Simon Cowell

Is it because I kinda sound like Thurston Howell?

Or is it 'cause they know success takes more than just luck

And they know I’m right when I tell them they all suck

You think you’s a pop star, but you need to stop buggin'

If you keep on singin', I’m-a put my ear plugs in

You ruined my favorite song, even screwed up the title

You’re a disgrace, you’re no American Idol

Next!