[Verse 1] He said, “I’m straight,” I said, “Sure, okay,” then he fixed his hair in a very specific way. Not saying anything, saying everything, just two men politely over-interpreting. You say “bro,” I hear “maybe,” he says “mate,” suddenly Shakespearean lately. One little look becomes a whole dissertation, welcome to the gay side of misinterpretation. [Pre-Chorus] Is he being friendly, is he being kind, is he just European, or is he flirting this time? Could be nothing, could be tea, could be three years of unnecessary analysis. [Chorus] Oh, it’s complicated, baby, simple until somebody says “maybe.” He’s straight, I’m gay, we both behave like there’s a secret manual neither one gave. You call it flirting, I call it style, he calls it friendship with a suspicious smile. Everybody knows, nobody knows, that’s how the whole ridiculous romance goes. [Verse 2] I enter, read the room, spot the handsome straight one from across the room. He laughs, I think, “Was that a joke or a meaningful wink?” Meanwhile the girls have solved it already, two drinks in and their verdict is steady: “He likes you.” — “He does not.” — “He does.” — “No.” Four people arguing over one hello. [Pre-Chorus] And the gaydar spins, then the gaydar stalls, sometimes it’s radar, sometimes it’s walls. Sometimes the most obvious man you see is absolutely, definitely, apparently— [Chorus] Complicated, baby, simple until somebody says “maybe.” He’s straight, I’m gay, we both behave like there’s a secret manual neither one gave. You call it flirting, I call it style, he calls it friendship with a suspicious smile. Everybody knows, nobody knows, that’s how the whole ridiculous romance goes. [Bridge] Maybe he’s straight and just comfortable, maybe I’m gay and highly combustible. Maybe the haircut means absolutely zilch, maybe I’m reading the label before I open the gift. Maybe your best friend knows what you won’t say, maybe my best friend knew on Tuesday. Maybe the joke is the joke, full stop— and maybe, just maybe, I should let it drop. But then he says, “You look good tonight,” and suddenly logic has left the site. One compliment, two eyebrows, three theories deep— goodnight, rational thought, go get some sleep. [Final Chorus] Oh, it’s complicated, baby, beautifully stupid, wonderfully shady. He’s straight, I’m gay, we’re both okay, but nobody behaves in a completely normal way. Call it friendship, call it fate, call it flirting if you simply cannot wait. Everybody laughs, nobody knows, and somehow that’s exactly how the whole thing goes. He’s straight, I’m gay, we’re both behaving— probably nothing… probably maybe.
