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