The Campaign For Real Rock Lyrics - Edwyn Collins

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Don't try so hard to be different

The cracks are beginning to show

You drift like a cloud

Through the festival crowd

In a frock coat from Saville Row

You've just been to a all-night party

Where I have to admit it takes pluck

To go out on the floor

And Proclaim 'What a bore'

In a T-shirt that reads 'Disco Sucks'

Yes, here he comes, the not-so-young

Pretender to the throne

He's singing 'Rag, Momma, Rag'

Won't you give that poor dog a bone?

And he's wondering why we can't connect

When he's sworn to us that he's totally wrecked

On the rustic charm that he affects

On a public schoolboy whim

With a raggle taggle plastic gypsy

Robert Zimmerframe

With a Synthesized accordian

A-scramblin' up my brain

With a fiddle-dee-dee

A fiddle on high

Excuse me folks while I kiss the sky

Or at any rate give it one more try

Before I die

Before I die
The overrated hit the stage

Overpaid and over here

And their idea of counter-culture's

Momma's charge account at Sears

And they're wondering why we can't connect

With the ritual of the trashed guitar

One more paltry empty gesture

The ashes of a burned out star

Yes here they come, both old and young

A contact low or high

The gathering of the tribes descending

Vultures from a cuastic sky

The rotting carcase of July

And ugly sun hung out to dry

Your gorgeous hippy dreams are dying

Your frazzled brains are putrifying

Repackaged, sold and sanitized

The devil's music exorcised

You live, you die, you lie, you lie, you die

Perpetuate the lie

Just to perpetuate the lie
Yes yes yes it's the summer festival

The truly detestable

Summer Festivalthanks to [Herr Floyd] for the lyrics

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