your fast red car. You've got your lines of speed. You've got an office
of your own and your fax machine and lots of tacky clothes for when
you make that scene. You've got some famous friends that owe you
lots of bucks. You know you've got your complaints about how it's all
such a rut and when you go to sleep, down in your big round bed,
you've got your visions of dollar signs dancing in your head.

Cruising the clubs with the label man, you've got the CMJ in your
sweaty little hands and we'll go round and round searching for the
latest thing to make the little girls wet and the cash registers ring and
we got lots of bands and we got lots of friends and we got lots of power
to shape the latest trends so won't you come on down and sell your
soul to me 'cuz though I know you're naive you didn't think this was
free, did you?

"You've got, what I want, it's blood