I like to sing in the morning,
Drives my neighbors insane.
If they are not already quarrelling,
Sometimes it is quite plain.
Walls vibrate with drums and screams,
And sounds I can't comprehend.
Not even in my wildest dreams
Could I compete with the noise they send.
To them it is fun,
Their drumrolls and gyrations,
To me, it is just not done,
A difference in our generations.
Their radios blare with vulgar sounds
By those with pants to their knees.
Who can't walk straight and waddle around
And say just what they please.
Perhaps they seek to escape some sorrow
,And sometimes appear rather civilized.
The youth of today are the hope of tomorrow,
Though some appear to be otherwise.
One morning, they inquired about my song
When I met them in he hall
Their looks were mean and very strong,
I couldn't understand them at all.
Perhaps if I learned to play their stuff,
They would begin to like mine.
But for now I think this is enough
So there is not one more line.
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