[Intro] Ladies Gents And others Lend me Both your ears and genre envy We shall tour With cheeky candor Every style your heart can pander Call it “Genre Dear Genre ” a Semi-scholarly panorama [Verse 1 – Patter / Operetta] In the realm of patter chatter Every matter has to clatter At a clip that makes your lips resemble flapping rubber bands Where the consonants conglomerate The vowels disintegrate And syllables proliferate like rabbits on your hands With alliterative artillery And rhymes of near-military Precision in their metrical advance The semantic freight is secondary To the lexical menagerie We basically enunciate in trance [Chorus – Patter Refrain] Genre Dear genre We’re skimming your veneer We lovingly dissect you with a sly Sarcastic sneer We scan you and we scansion you and parse your atmosphere Oh genre Dear genre We’re caricaturing here [Verse 2 – Jazz / Swing] Now we slide into a swing so insinuating Hi-hat ticking like a wristwatch Syncopating Every phrase just slightly late Like someone “dropping by” With a bass that walks more confidently Than most men who say “I’m not afraid to cry” We deploy diminished intervals suggestive of seduction Then resolve them into something Just respectable enough to dodge abduction Add a melismatic swoop on every minor third we pass And a lyric drenched in irony Involving bourbon Heartbreak And a glass [Chorus] [Verse 3 – Torch Ballad / Power Ballad] Here’s the section where the belter Stands alone in perfect gel Spotlight pinning every pelted Note that climbs a heavy swell Where regret is modulated Up a half-step every time Till the key and my circulatory system Simultaneously decline I will hold this note heroically Beyond what’s physiologically Recommended by an otolaryngologist Then I’ll whisper something vulnerable And vaguely metaphysical To make the second chorus sound more earnest [Chorus – Big Ballad Version] [Bridge – Gospel / Revival] Can I get a modulation? (Amen!) Can I get a stacked triadic exultation? (Oh yes!) We will clap on two and four till orthopedists hit the floor And the organ starts a tremolo salvation We’ll repeat one line ad nauseam Till it passes into dogma Like a mantra wrapped in major-seventh chords Then the choir hits a cadence So cathartically contagious You’ll confess to things you never even did Dear Lord [Verse 4 – Hip-Hop / Spoken-Word Fusion] Observe the sudden pivot to a beat-centric vernacular Where rhythmic hyper-linguistic flips are practically spectacular I navigate the meter with a metrically meticulous Display of nested rhyme schemes growing ever more ridiculous Internal Infernal Fraternal Nocturnal A circular swirl of referential journal I deconstruct the structure while constructing new constructions So the function of the genre is to function as dysfunction And while I’m busy bending syntax into oratorial yoga You’re just nodding to the kick like “wow That’s… kinda dope Huh?” [Chorus – Call-and-Response] Genre Dear genre (say what?) We’re roasting you with care (uh-huh) Affection mixed with satire Like a critic in a lair (okay) We amplify your tropes until they shimmer Then they smear Oh genre Dear genre We’re hyperbolic here [Verse 5 – Country / Folk] Now the tempo ambles Friendly as a neighbor with a pie And the chords are so familiar you could hum them when you die There’s a truck A porch A beverage And a form of rural pain Plus a dog that serves as metaphor for loss and better days I’ll address you in the second person Folksy but profound Then repeat the hook so often It could qualify as town
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