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