Seller in the Cellar

Back in the Dark Ages, (the last year or so of the 20th Century) I was at a sound studio in a very backwoods market, recording some inane voice-over for some clueless client of my vacuous boss' agency. While waiting for the engineer to get his act together, I picked up a guitar that was leaning against the wall and plucked a little nothing. The engineer spun around in his chair and laughed, "Ha HA! Another frustrated musician gone into advertising!" I replied, "No. Another frustrated advertiser going into music."

Someday I'll be out of this game, running my own record label or something. (Provided I win the lotto or land our group some sweet consulting gig like George Parker's.)

I have a few forthcoming albums planned, one of which will feature a song dedicated to all my friends in the business. I haven't figured out the music just yet for this little rap, but it'll likely end up in some neo-folk-funk-rock-chili-peppers genre. Smell the funk as you read along.



Seller in the Cellar
From the album "Telegraph Canyon," by Radio Free Babylon




Sell to win – there is no sin
Grab ‘em by the heart – that’s the start
Grab ‘em by the ears - prey on their fears
Get into their soul - get a hold

You’re fat, you’re ugly, you’re nowhere near sexy
You’re old, you’re dying, you’re sick inside
You’re a loser, you’re bald, you’re lacking something real
and you’re just plain stupid if you turn down this deal

Hear that cha-ching? – the register rings
Quota was made – we play in the shade
Palms are greased – space is leased
The clients sing – sales is the thing

You’re dumb, you’re lacking, your husband doesn’t love you
You’re slow, you’re dated, you’re a sad excuse
You’re worthless, you’re uncool, can’t you recognize what’s real?
We thought you were smarter when we offered this deal

fine print is small – don’t read it all
It says what it must – as if you can’t trust
Would I lie to you? Would I tell you untrue?
If I can get in – give it just the right spin
I sell apples to Eve – and make her believe

that she’s a failure, a victim, she needs her eyes opened
Her man’s a pansy, substandard, and lacking in size
She’s wrinkled, small-breasted, bad mother, lover, wife
until she buys the thing to revolutionize her life

You’re a mark, a pigeon, a sucker, easy target
You’re insecure, unsure and afraid of the truth
You’re a dummy, firm believer, an always-open wallet
You’d sell your body, your soul, or whatever you call it