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 popmusic 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 sell  Don't worry yet  They'll recycle your songs when you're dead  The gang of four smiles  They think the e.m.i.'s their friend  E.m.i. smiles  He's glad the gang of four is fooled  Now he can exploit them  Look how happy they are