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 pop music 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 they sell Don't worry yet Don't worry yet They'll recycle your songs When you're dead The gang of four smiles They think that E.M.I.'s their friend E.M.I. smiles He's glad the gang of four is fooled Now he can exploit them Now he can exploit them Now he can exploit them Look how happy they are