What Kind Of Person Are You Based on Your Karaoke Song?

Unless you're a total killjoy, you've spent countless hours picking and practicing the karaoke song you'll inevitably slur in front of a slew of strangers. You know your vocal range and you know who you want to be when you hit that stage. 

And let's face it, it's a lot of pressure. You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime (all lyrics from an Eminem song, that is coincidentally my karaoke jam). No matter what song you've chosen to define THE REST OF YOUR KARAOKE CAREER, it's a direct reflection of your persona. Are you the "Creep" dude or the "Lady Marmalade" crew? Find out below.

You're the dude who secretly has a decent voice, but you're afraid to admit it in front your bro squad. A karaoke bar is the one place you can get drunk enough to show off your talents. The minute you hit "Creep"'s high note, the entire bar insists you try out for next season of "The Voice."

You're the group of nerds who've ordered far too many margarita pitchers because IT'S TIME TO LET LOOSE OUTSIDE THE LAB, FELLAS! You're feelin' the brotherly love as you hold each other up and dramatically slur, "MAMAAAAAAA, JUST KILLED A MAN."

You also feel awkward about halfway through, because that song is long AF.

You're the drunkest chicks in the bar—a group of frisky females looking to get some. You fight over the Christina part and take the stage to show major sex appeal, but end up looking like those inflatable dancing men outside of car washes.

The one friend who's down to rap Missy's part is the only chill gal of the group.

You're a "play it safe" kind of person who knows you can't go wrong with a crowd-pleasing classic. You rally the bar and remind them of the simpler days of choreographing pop dance moves in their basement. Every karaoker appreciates you.

Your friends think of you as the pretzel in the Munchies bag. Way to kill the vibe, brodie.

Your unoriginality and lack of self-awareness is a little baffling. Your favorite piece of clothing is a t-shirt that says, "Keep Calm and Chive On."

You're the Karen of the group, who got a last-minute pity invite to the bar. No one wants to partner with you, so you decide to take on the vocals of Mel B, Mel C, Geri, Emma and Vicki all by yourself. By the time you get to the third "zigazig ah," you sound like an asthmatic cat.

You're a former stoner-turned-real estate agent who wishes they were still able to use drugs recreationally.

You're a 40-something-year-old woman, having her first night out in a while. You have two teenagers who've heard you sing this song in the shower about a million times.

You're as tired and boring and outdated as this song. You still quote "Napoleon Dynamite" on a regular basis.

You couldn't care less about rock 'n' roll. 

You're a retired thespian, looking to relive those drama club glory days. A lot of people roll their eyes at how serious you take yourself. We get it, you have vibrato.

You never received adequate closure from an ex, so this is your opportunity to publicly display your pain. You crush a glass in your hand mid-song in a fit of heartbroken rage.

You a) want the bartender to know you're available and b) have been practicing the chicken strut using Youtube tutorials in your living room. 

You're the best friend duo who doesn't even have to argue about who gets Sandy's part because you've got your alto/soprano harmonies down from years of performing in the car together.

You're just like the "Creep" bro; only difference is, you don't actually have a good voice.

You're the unassuming cool girl who low-key has an amazing voice. Every other girl in the bar doesn't know whether to befriend you or throw a drink in your face. 

You're the lovable clown who's easy to get along with. You never miss an opportunity to crack a joke and everyone loves having you around. That said,  you're constantly friend zoned. 

You're a woman who's going through some shit. Maybe it's a divorce, or maybe it's a broken relationship with your father, but either way, you're really putting it all out there. You'll cry multiple times in the bar bathroom.

You're the male version of the Celine enthusiast. Get some therapy, buddy.