Tape Op Blues (from the new record) The engineer sits in his cocoon, he's set up mics all around the room, the producer reaches for a smoke, the tape op tells another joke, and I stand at the microphone, out of reach, and all alone, and wonder what they're saying about me two months ago we were all friends, we couldn't wait 'til we'd begin the a&r man would come around, we'd think of ways to put him down, I got a new guitar, wood from Peru, the other eighteen just won't do, we picked the place where we'd record, an indoor swimming pool, a diving board but now I stand at the microphone, out of reach, and all alone, and wonder what they're saying about me the first few weeks went swimmingly, we fired the drummer and drank coffee the basic tracks went like a knife through butter and we congratulated one another friends came by, we made them play on our busman's holiday titles for the record flew, like "chicken feathers into glue" but now I stand at the microphone, out of reach, and all alone, and wonder what they're saying about me each track was played so many times, we'd cringe before we even heard the rhymes each note we'd placed so carefully was out of time and out of key "We've got to think of something fast" the producer said from behind the glass, "now what would the Ramones have done?" as I stand at the microphone, its burning deck, and all alone, and wonder what they're saying about me I wonder what they're saying about me