[Verse 1] I showed up Tuesday, mallets in my hand, Ready to become the finest in the land, I practiced all my scales, I learned to count to four, Then somehow launched a mallet through the practice-room door. They said, “This is a club, not percussion warfare.” I said, “That sounds subjective,” as it sailed through the air. The president sighed, the treasurer fled, And somebody found a C-sharp embedded in the shed. [Pre-Chorus] They took my little badge, They took my locker key, They said, “For legal reasons, Please leave immediately.” [Chorus] Oh, Marimba Club, take me back! I swear I’ve changed, I’m on the right track! I’ll strike the bars with dignity, No more mallet-based artillery! Marimba Club, forgive my crimes, I’ll even practice with a metronome sometimes! I miss that wooden *bonk-bonk-bonk,* Without you, life just sounds so wrong! [Verse 2] Okay, perhaps the incident was slightly my mistake, But nobody said the marimba couldn’t go beside the lake. And nobody predicted when I played my solo loud, The instrument would slowly roll directly through a crowd. I chased it down the hillside screaming, “MUSIC HAS NO BRAKES!” It struck a table, stole a cake, and frightened seven drakes. You called it “gross misconduct,” I called it avant-garde, The judge called it “concerning” and banned me from the yard. [Chorus] Oh, Marimba Club, take me back! I’ve filled out forms! I’ve signed the stack! I bought new mallets, soft and round, They barely qualify as weapons now! Marimba Club, please hear my plea, There’s an empty four-mallet-shaped hole in me! My rhythm’s dying, my soul is numb, I’ve started tapping melodies on my bum! [Bridge] I tried the xylophone club— They said I was “too intense.” I tried the vibraphone club— They installed an electric fence. I asked the timpani players, They pretended not to hear. The triangle club accepted me… But I only dinged twice all year. I NEED WOODEN BARS! I NEED RESONATOR TUBES! I NEED FOUR MALLETS AND QUESTIONABLE GROOVES! [Verse 3] So here I stand outside your door beneath the pouring rain, Playing imaginary marimba like a deeply broken man. Left hand going *bonka,* right hand going *bing,* Security keeps asking why I’m hitting everything. I wrote an apology, seventeen pages long, Though fourteen pages somehow became another marimba song. I promise no explosions, livestock, fire, or bees— And I’ll stop yelling “MARIMBA SOLO!” during moments of silence… probably. [Final Chorus] MARIMBA CLUB, TAKE ME BACK! REMOVE MY NAME FROM THE PERMANENT BAN STACK! I’VE LEARNED RESTRAINT! I’VE LEARNED CONTROL! I ONLY BROKE ONE RESONATOR POLE! Marimba Club, give me one more chance, I’ll behave myself and wear appropriate pants! Let me return where I belong, Where every questionable choice becomes a song! [Outro] So unlock the doors, Let forgiveness begin… I promise this time I won’t bring the cannon in. Wait. Why are you locking the door? Guys? I CAN SEE YOU THROUGH THE WINDOW. I BROUGHT MY OWN MARIMBA! …Guys?
