The Critic

He gets up real early on his morning drive

Down to the office for his nine to five

He drives a '94 two-tone economy car

Loves to tell the local bands down at the bar that he's the critic

Yeah, I can hook you up

I know everybody in the business

He flunked junior high band, he couldn't march in time

Tried to write a song once, but he couldn't make it rhyme

He learned two or three chords on a pawn shop guitar

He just never quite had what it took to be a star

So he's a critic

I work for the Gazette, man

I got a real job

He did a five-star column on a band he never heard

Did a bluegrass review without an unkind word

He thought it was time to ask his boss for a raise

His boss said, "I can't even tell if anybody is even reading your page"

Yeah

So he thought, and he thought a little more, mm

He caught a young hot star headed into town

Then he hid behind his typewriter, and he gunned the boy down

And here come the letters, the emails, the faxes

And they raised him to 20 thousand dollars a year after taxes

Now he's a happy critic

He says, "I'm rolling in the dough

Man, I could do this forever, this is easy

Everybody's reading my column

Hey y'all, y'all don't tell my mom

That I write the music column for The Gazette

'Cause uh, she still thinks I play piano down at the cat house

Got myself respect back there though"

Let's get funky with this boys

Play it out now, play it out

Oh, come on Scotty, let's do this thing

Like we always did this thing

Jump in there, Dave, help me

Oh, we walking the dog now, walking on now

Y'all have to hurry, my fingers are gettin' tired

Y'all gonna have to hurry

Wearin' me out

No coffee break, oh

Gon' tell you somethin', boys

Sounds like a take to me

And they're gon' love you

'Cause they already love me

It's the critic