I can’t help thinking while they’re all on the stage,
There’s no joy in this for them any more.
They’re just grafting for minimum wage -
It’s just a job, they work and they’re bored.

That’s your problem
You don’t sing it out
No-one’s gonna say
Don’t sing it out

A simple paycheck at the end of the day
Enough to keep them toeing the line
Knock the same thing out time after time
As long as it sells well they’ll be fine

That’s your problem
You don’t sing it out
No-one’s gonna say
Don’t sing it out

It’s one for the money
And two is for the money as well,
Three’s for the cash made
When these bland and trendy records sell.
Four’s for good causes
Exploited to get records sold,
Five’s for the silver
And six is for the fucking gold.

What you get is what you pay for.