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