| 1971, we all heard the starters gun
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| New York was such a pity
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| But at Max’s Kansas City we won
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| We all shot the shit at the bar
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| With Johnny O' Toole and his scar
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| And then old Clive Davis said
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| He’s surely gonna make us a star
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| I’m going to make you a star
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| Just the way you are
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| But with all his style
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| I could see in his eyes
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| That we is going on trial
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| And it was no surprize
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| The boys kept kicking ass
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| As usual time would tell
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| But some bitch in the choir
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| Throw water on the fires of hell
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| She loved to show and tell
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| Lord, she loved to tell
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| But with all our style
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| You could see in our eyes
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| That we is still on trial
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| And it was no surprize
|
| No surprize
|
| No surprize
|
| No surprize
|
| Midnight lady, situation fetal
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| Vaccinate your ass with your phonograph needle
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| I say look here, friend of mine
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| You scratch like you need calamine
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| Flamingo boots, soles a creaking
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| Still in love and Puerto Rican too
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| Riding on wheels of hell
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| Smoking our axle grease
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| Oh, the backstage is rocking
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| And we’re copping from the local police
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| That’s right, the local police
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| Or the justice of peace
|
| But with all our style
|
| You could see in our eyes
|
| That we is still on trial
|
| And it was no surprize
|
| No surprize
|
| No surprize
|
| No surprize
|
| Rock n' roll, junkie whore
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| Got my foot inside the door
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| Knock knock, knock knock, knock
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| Nobody’s keeping score
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| Bad times go away
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| Come again some other day
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| Topaz and sazzafraz
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| Will keep the blues away
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| Candy store, rock n' roll
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| Corporation jellyroll
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| Play the singles, it ain’t me
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| It’s programmed insanity
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| You ASCAP, Or BMI
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| Could ever make a mountain fly
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| If Japanese can boil teas
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| Then where the fuck’s my royalties… aar |