The Critic

He gets up real early on his morning drive
Down to the office for his nine to five
He drives a '94 two-tone economy car
Loves to tell the local bands down at the bar that he's the critic
Yeah, I can hook you up
I know everybody in the business

He flunked junior high band, he couldn't march in time
Tried to write a song once, but he couldn't make it rhyme
He learned two or three chords on a pawn shop guitar
He just never quite had what it took to be a star

So he's a critic
I work for the Gazette, man
I got a real job

He did a five-star column on a band he never heard
Did a bluegrass review without an unkind word
He thought it was time to ask his boss for a raise
His boss said, "I can't even tell if anybody is even reading your page"
Yeah

So he thought, and he thought a little more, mm
He caught a young hot star headed into town
Then he hid behind his typewriter, and he gunned the boy down
And here come the letters, the emails, the faxes
And they raised him to 20 thousand dollars a year after taxes

Now he's a happy critic
He says, "I'm rolling in the dough
Man, I could do this forever, this is easy
Everybody's reading my column
Hey y'all, y'all don't tell my mom
That I write the music column for The Gazette
'Cause uh, she still thinks I play piano down at the cat house
Got myself respect back there though"

Let's get funky with this boys
Play it out now, play it out
Oh, come on Scotty, let's do this thing
Like we always did this thing
Jump in there, Dave, help me
Oh, we walking the dog now, walking on now
Y'all have to hurry, my fingers are gettin' tired
Y'all gonna have to hurry

Wearin' me out
No coffee break, oh
Gon' tell you somethin', boys
Sounds like a take to me
And they're gon' love you
'Cause they already love me
It's the critic