The Mayor moved out to the suburbs
  That's where his true heart lies
  And everyone who lives here hates you now
  We see the sideways glances
  Tongues stuck out at right angles
  At tastes they can't stand anymore
  
  CHORUS:
  No garlic
  No spice
  No seasoning for your bland ideas
  Mayo on white bread
  In a pink ziploc bag
  What pressure
  What vice
  What force took out your flavor?
  What made you hate
  The flavor that made you?
  
  The allergy you harbor
  That helps you keep at bay
  The spice rack contained
  From Boogie-Down to Rockaway
  The affliction on your nose
  That makes our sweet smell seem a reek
  Still can not hide the simple fact
  Our day beats your week
  
  Trade your tang for a strip mall
  Your secret recipe for a lawn
  Someone will always be glad to take your spot in the melting pot
  Don't worry about any damage
  To the clean white shell you've made
  There's nothing worthwhile inside to destroy
  
  CHORUS: