I sharpened a note,
Which started the whole church writhing.
What should have been B
Had the tone of a C, oh no.

My sharp was too high,
Which started my throat nerves rasping.
Oh, if I'd sung a B,
Then my tone would be clean.

Eyes looked from the choir,
Grumpy and blanched, glowing with ire.
And I yelled out in dread.
Lurching, I fled. I cringed as I sped.

Now I'm silently shy,
No jarring the whole church, singing.
Oh, but my holy priest
Thinks I woke up the Beast.

I'm shook as he tries
Rubbing some ash over my eyes.
And I belt out a jest,
Cursing, confess, and think I'm possessed.

Then I'm spinally dried,
Which startles my throat nerves, zinging.
Oh, and my soul is freed,
Oh yeah, and my tone is on key, oh yeah,
'Cause the note is a B-ee-ee-ee,
Oh-oh-oh-oh.