Popsong

The North looked rundown Just like it does in British films Oh and it rained so hard From Wolverhampton into the Chiltern Hills And in an uninsured old Ford We drove into the Smoke Across a crowded Camden bar We met Theodore and the label bloke And he looked sixteen and a half A sickly schoolboy face Without a trace of time Oh no I sold my only popsong To the boy from EMI Who fiddled with his scarf Licked his lips when he told lies Oh I sold my only popsong For a handshake and a line But something in my heart weighed so heavy on my mind A London montage Just like they do in British films Oh they would change our parts Trim down the intro and lose those rock drum fills And on a balcony we shared A menthol cigarette He'd drove a van for Prefab Sprout He'd wrote a press release for Wet Wet Wet And we stood gormless all the while Like four sheet metal workers sons We had no place or style Oh no I sold my only popsong They just pointed where to sign We wrestled with our art Oh we wrestled with our time Oh I sold my only popsong To the lads from EMI One had a thin moustache The other had thin eyes And they wore Tweed. Oh it went Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh Whoa oh oh