I promise that my friend will make you famous
He’s sleeping with a Big Cheese in the Biz
You and that guitar could be contagious
You’ll never play another dump like this
He claims he made his fortune in some boy band
He roamed the Mystic East to sell his ass
She’s a hack who ghost writes for the tabloids
You pay her with a key of home–grown hash
You’re telling lies right to my face but I don’t mind hearing them
It’s just a simple text book case - You’re this year’s waste of space
We’ll get the best PR to raise your profile
All we need’s an angle and some cash
They’ll tell you that the press can get quite hostile
When you find a market for your trash
You’re telling lies right to my face but I don’t mind hearing them
It’s just a simple text book case - You’re this year’s waste of space
Musicians:
- David Fisher – Vocals, Drums, Acoustic Guitars, Percussion, Vocoder
- Chris Alchin – Electric Guitars, Slide Guitars, Organ
- Peter Watts – Electric Guitar
- Tiv – Bass
- Martin Gregory – Tambourine
- Vicki Workman – Backing Vocals
Production:
Produced by David Fisher at Summerisle in Carshalton Beeches, UKNotes:
This started as a riff inspired by a track from The Small Faces which was played by master musician Chris Alchin. There's a great psyhedelic guitar duel in the middle between Chris and Dr Watts.
The song concerns the kind of time-wasting idiots who attach themselves to musicians and offer to "help" but actually waste your time and money. We fall for this nonsense over and over again because they always target our weak spot - our egos. They flatter us into submission.
I have been helped by some terrific people over the years and they know who they are because I have told them how grateful I am. The people I refer to in this song will never know its about the because they are either dead or are so "professional" that I am nothing to them. Bitter - me? - Hell yes!