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We all know money makes the world go ‘round,
I’ve always heard you can’t keep a good man down,
Everybody wants to get their knife in the pie,
But there’s a target on the back of the little guy,
If you own all the chickens then you sell all the eggs,
And you wallow in your fortune while everyone else begs,
You tell all the buyers this is all there is for sale,
But this consumer heaven is just a coat of paint on hell.
I’ve got a message for the R.I.A.A. and it’s not exactly sealed with a kiss,
But sooner or later you’re gonna have to download this.
The propaganda that you call music,
Our radio dials just can’t refuse it,
An endless supply of mediocrity,
Pass them off as gourmet chefs but they’er just chopping broccoli,
Your concern for their welfare is very touching indeed,
But there’s only six people dumb enough to think it’s not greed,
The muse has been profaned by this commerce ethic,
Now a philosopher-king is born into this reign of the pathetic.
I’ve got a message for the R.I.A.A. and it’s not exactly sealed with a kiss,
But sooner or later you’re gonna have to download this.
Everyone that’s ever had a dream,
Just put your ego back to bed,
You walked on the water can you walk on the steam,
I think you better try to crawl instead,
The chisel belongs in a sculptor’s hand,
You need to wring those stars out of your eyes,
The stars are not there to light your band,
They look much more wonderful in the sky,
Here’s to the luck that fills the suit,
And the monetary-physics of designing stars,
My advise to you when you get the boot,
You’d be real good at selling used cars,
Any animal will fight for what he thinks is his,
Any lips recoil from a real death-kiss,
Put the art back in the artist and the show back in the biz,
Sooner or later you’er gonna have to download this.