Ripping along towards middle age And my music career kind of missed a page Record sales began to drop The management all began to hop Not worry, they said, you'll see What you need is some fresh publicity Just give us a nod and we'll all leap Towards putting you back at the top of the heap
I said, fine, I'll give it a whack I hung up the phone and I turned my back Began daydreaming I was somebody else When the phone jumped Over from the wall to the shelf We just had a break, this is really fine We can make the January issue of time If you'll give us Monday, a week from today From two to four, now what do you say?
I said, time, time mag, mag You got me on the rag, rag Take your insults about the queen And shove them up Your royal timese machine
But I scribbled it down on the wall calendar And wondered about my interviewer Maybe he'd be just a real nice guy Bright and sympathetic with a roving eye We'd forget all about the assignment due Formalities, photos, and the interview We'd hop on into his big rent-a-car Go for a lovely drive, not far... maybe France
As the big day approached it slipped my mind Till my secretary showed up at the house to remind Me to switch into gear for the big coup de gras The meeting with the man from the media I swept the driveway and polished the phone Put on a Kenzo knit in two-tone Fluffed the pillows in the burgundy chair Made up my eyes and brushed my hair... all in that order
When he called to say he was three hours late My cheerful facade began to disintegrate The photographer'd be even later still She was hopelessly lost in the nearby hills He arrived not exactly the man of my dreams Not bad for a rep from the timese machine Asked me a wandering question or three And I thought he was actually listening to me
I said, time, time mag, mag You got me on the rag, rag Take your insults about the queen And shove them up Your royal timese machine
Curious about his interest I babbled my way through the worldwide list Ireland, Chile and the African states Poetry, politics and how they relate Motherhood, music and Moog synthesizers Political prisoners and Commie sympathizers Hetero, homo and bisexuality Where they all stand in the nineteen-seventies
Then suddenly it stopped and he started to lobby Said, tell me some inside stuff about Bobby Bobby who? I smiled and said And the time man's face was laced with red I know you guys used to know each other I know you refer to him as being your brother And I know that you know where he's coming from I said, you know alot for being so Goddamned dumb
And I said, time, time mag, mag You got me on the rag, rag Take your insults about the queen And shove them up Your royal timese machine
I never gave him quite what he came for The inside story and it's really a shame For I never made the January issue of time And just before I run out of words that rhyme I really should tell you that deep in my heart I don't give a damn where I stand on the charts Not as long as the sun sinks into the west And that's going to be a pretty serious test... of time
Time, time mag, mag You got me on the rag, rag Take your insults about the queen And shove them up Your royal timese machine
And I said, time, time mag, mag You got me on the rag, rag Take your insults about the queen And shove them up Your royal timese machine.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
