We thought we'd write a song about all of the problems
inherent in the industry,
it was going to be an exposé written in unblemished symmetry.
We were going to have our glorious exit,
an admonition and an encore,
we were going to make a point to the whole world,
but no one wants to hear it anymore.

Don't worry what this song would say,
you'll never hear it anyway.
They won't play this song on the radio,
so far, so bad, that's how it goes.
They'll pull our records from the shelves,
so far, so bad, that's how it goes.

The rhyme scheme to this song was mostly flawless,
it might have made good poetry.
It could have bridged the gap between the classes,
and overthrown the bourgeoisie.
It made a couple points about the future,
and how the past was kind of uncool,
and if you ever tried to play it backwards,
it told the kids to stay in school.

I thought I'd write an epiphany,
how something good is changing me,
but I guess we dodged some passing fad,
it looks like it's so far, so bad.
This song is rad.
You could ask your dad.
He won't be mad.
This song is stupid.

Music: Dennis and Reese / Words: Reese