Lyrics

[Verse]
Four of us lined up in a row so fine
Slicked-back hair and shoes that shine
We came to croon but oh what a mess
A comedy of errors in our Sunday best

[Chorus]
Snip snip oops there goes the 'do
A barber's hand slipped and the chaos grew
With every trim the disaster grew wide
Now we're a quartet with mismatched pride

[Verse]
Jim lost his bangs to a sneeze mid-snip
Tom's sideburns vanished in a single clip
Bill's mullet turned into a lopsided fade
And I'm wearing a bowl cut from 2nd grade

[Chorus]
Snip snip oops there goes the 'do
A barber's hand slipped and the chaos grew
With every trim the disaster grew wide
Now we're a quartet with mismatched pride

[Bridge]
Oh the mirrors don't lie we look quite bizarre
A lineup of heads like a beat-up old car
But we sing with gusto through all the despair
Because our music’s louder than our bad hair

[Verse]
We tried to harmonize but laughed too hard
The barber’s chair spun like a carnival yard
Each note we hit was a little off-key
Blame it on the trauma of our follicle spree