You start out with a punk rock band just trying to have fun
Your lousy seven-inch is not impressing anyone
You get your first show, and you're ready to go
When you're stopped by the fire chief
Do not pass go. do not collect your ten bucks gas money
But pretty soon you're playing almost constantly
You buy a crappy, rusted-out old van
You leave your mom's house, happy to be on your own
And move in with the rest of your band
You get a record deal with a big label on the coast
You feel important as you eat your ramen and your toast
And your money is spent, and you can't pay the rent
But you're having a gay old time
You don't have cash for food, but you still get drunk every night
The local fanzines all start wanting interviews
And then you're in Maximum Rocknroll
Your record starts to sell, and you get paid for it
The fun's just started, now hit the road
The merchandise is selling out, you're the talk of the scene
The profit margins far exceed your most orgasmic dreams
But touring feels wrong when they're shouting out songs
Or punching you in the mouth
The ones who don't want your autograph
Scream at you that you've sold out
You wonder why you ever got involved in this
You find yourself despising all your fans
Your appointments with accountants and your lawyers are
More important than the stupid punk band
You come out with a half-assed record made too fast
You hate your band, and they think you're a jerk
And suddenly you're not the hottest thing around
It's time for a career in spoken word
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
