1. Spell it! Weigh each letter on your tongue.
Let ‘em slip down your throat to your stomach and your lungs.
Some come for the spit-takes, some for the pratfalls.
Some to spot mistakes and make catcalls.
Stand up. Put a load back on.
It’s a rainy day in Hades when I don’t act calm.
Tacked on. Death to the alternate ending.
Deus ex machina, stop depending
On last second saves and eleventh hour rescues.
You only taste power when the real power lets you.
Hold that pose ‘til the cows come home.
Kill a whole species of bird with one stone.
Counterfeit bills to pay for bad forgeries.
More power to you if you feel like ignoring me.
You don’t fear aging ‘til you watch someone botch it.
The Mispronouncer: slow motion in the moshpit.

Chorus: It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
Don’t MISs your one guess.
It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
No space, one “S.”

2. If you can do it, you can dream it.
I flip myself off in mirrors with both hands, I don’t mean it.
I peaked as a person sometime last week.
No one’s gonna go and smuggle sunshine past me.
Ask me how I get a word to fit.
Sometimes you gotta mispronounce just to work with it.
I’ve been here all day. I’ve been awake since noon.
I’ve been barking at the shadow of a makeshift moon.
Kill a catchphrase and the nation mourns.
I fill the next day desecrating the corpse.
And this party’s too stationary to crash.
Too weary to hear me, too wary to catch.
I built this image from the ground up. Now what?
You think I’m gonna kick it back down ‘cause I found love?
I don’t need to stand for something we can all embrace.
I just wanna be a light in the crawlspace, dollface.

Chorus: It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
I’m an answer to the riddle:
It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
What proper noun’s got a PRONOUN in the middle?

3. I prefer to be liked, for whatever it’s worth.
Untouched by professional barbers since birth.
I wanna live in a town with an Indian name.
I wanna bring back silence, pity, and shame.
They say it’s unhealthy to keep my feelings bottled up
So I’ll tell you what I’m feeling now: Not all that much.
Too much pop and my bowels need to move more.
Diabetes, colon cancer: two and two’s four.
Gentlemen prefer blondes, I prefer options.
I prefer speculation to exhaustion.
You will know me by the acne scars, by the straw
By the student loans, by the monotone.
You will know me by the hat, by the walk, by the scribble.
You will know me directly or only know the ripples.
You will know me by the way I make you move if I can help it.
I know you know my name, now show me you can spell it.

Chorus: It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
Respect is assured.
It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
‘Cause every time you say my name you finish with a CER/sir.

It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
Spell it! Spell it! Spell it! Spell it!
It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
Spell it! Spell it! Spell it! Spell it!
It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
Spell it! Spell it! Spell it! Spell it!
It’s the M-I-S-P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-E-R
Spell it! Spell it! Spell it! Spell it! Spell it! Spell it! Spell it! Spell it!