finally there's sales-resistance

record-business stagnates

the companies call it a crisis

they must be out of their minds

still too much shit surrounds me

this popmusic dirties my ears

i wait for the beloved moment

that this music disappears

record-companies investigate

new waves to cram down your throat

the next saturday nightmare fever

another consumption-craze

new horizons in retailing

make all noises sound the same

there's even muzak for silent movies

it's just all part of their game

so they let you into their studios

recording your songs on their terms

and they will take care of your business

it means they're after your share

flirting with skill to convince you

change the words and sound around a bit

do them a favor do behave you

they promise you'll get a hit

but what if there ain't enough profits

on the products you make that sell

don't worry yet

they'll recycle your songs when you're dead

the gang of four smiles

they think the e.m.i.'s their friend

e.m.i. smiles

he's glad the gang of four is fooled

now he can exploit them

look how happy they are