Macainsh There's a lotta smartarse songwriters Who think they're got the answers I wish they'd all just shut their mouths And get down with the dancers All those fancy words and major thirds Don't mean much to me And if you want me to listen to that Don't tell me no philosophy Oh well there's a lotta smartarse songwriters Who think they're got it down I wish they're all just drop their pens Get up and jump around All those stolen phrases and latest crazes Don't cut no ice with me And if you want me to listen to that Don't tell me your misery I don't wanna hear no love songs, seventy-eight piece orchestra, girl choirs, fancy session men, multi-track harmonies, conga drums, moog synthesizers, electric pop-up toasters, Phase 3 GT Falcons with s**power... You all know what I want You all know what I need You all know what I gotta have Why don't you gimme some Why don't you gimme some Why don't you gimme some Gimme some of that rock'n'roll melody Gimme some of that rock'n'roll beat Gimme some of that rock'n'roll ecstasy Knock me right off my feet..etc. Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah There's a lotta smartarse songwriters Who think they've got the answers...etc.