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THE FAST TALKIN' AGENT (Horton) The Duke Of Paducah - 1965 Son, you better listen to Clagmouth Clackett If you wanna make it big in the showbiz racket You got a big hit, Boy, but that ain't enough You need a fast-talkin' agent to handle your stuff And that's me, Son, Clagmouth's the name Big wheelin' and dealin', that's the name of the game I'll put you in the big time, set you up a firm Gizmo Productions, earn while you learn Me and you's partners, just sign your name And, Son, you're on your way to the Hall of Fame Sign here.....Fried Chicken.....Roast Beef..... Boy, that's where the gravy is..... T'ain't no joke, Son You gotta get a big shiny automobile And a great big house on Luxury Hill Great inspiration, lookin' down below For writin' them songs about Poverty Row And you cut 'em, and I'll plug 'em But you gotta be honest, Boy, tell it like it is 'Cos you can't be a phoney in today's showbiz Once upon a time you could be a big star Singin' through your nose to a tinny guitar With a ten gallon hat and a rhinestone suit And a flat-top Martin, you could grind some loot But that's gone, Son.....Flat, dead and gone Time's are a-changin'.....There's a new put-on Today makin' records is a whole new gig You can't make a silk purse out of a pig Forget about Ragtime and all that Jazz Now you gotta have a message with your razzamatazz Knock somethin'.....Hate somebody Mommy and Daddy.....They're the ones to blame They squeeezed all the sugar out o' Sugarfoot Rag Now you gotta get a gimmick from a brand new bag Picked all the petals from the Wildwood Flower Now you gotta peddle soul with your guitar power Start peddlin', Son.....If you wanna get the bread That's where it is, Boy.....Cornball's dead Leave that barnyard stuff for the chickens The County Fair's where it's still good pickins Old Aunt Martha pays a buck and a half For a record and a picture, free autograph She's happy.....So's Uncle Jim They know you're a good man..... Why you sang 'em a Hymn Sock it to 'em, Boy, with a poverty pitch For without poor people you'd be diggin' a ditch And who buys the records that's makin' you rich That's right, Boy, don't you ever forget it It's them poor, poor people..... I've got me a Star..... Get away from be, Boy, you bother me..... {Transcribed by Mel Priddle - May 2003)

    


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