Hot Cakes

I have been living at my Dad’s house, writing and recording songs and thinking a WHOLE lot about making money from music.  It’s something I think is crappy in a way.  I have tried to get past it but honestly, I can see myself starving on the street and feeling good about my music before I see myself in some mansion.  I’ll probably end up somewhere in the middle.  I used to write songs because I wanted to write a hit and get rich quick but I realized that I was basically going crazy always aiming at something that:  A) wasn’t totally realistic  and B) wasn’t ultimately enjoyable either.  I’m not a person who thinks that artists shouldn’t make money or be successful financially but I AM the type of person who thinks that only pursuing money with your art can corrupt what you are doing.  Money is a factor.  I think my views are pretty abnormal and probably ridiculous but for now it’s just where I stand.  If I had a family I know I would have to make some different decisions, and a lot of these thoughts have definitely affected my choices to put off marriage and all that.  I know some people who can juggle a family and a music career but that’s about a million miles past where I’m at right now, or where I’ve ever been.  I’ve realized that it’s best for me to just focus on the music and for now I feel pretty content about that (as long as everybody leaves me alone)…. anyway, that’s where my head was when I wrote this one.

Hot Cakes

Money is all there is to find

All there is to this long life

It’s 70 years of toil and strife

To make the gold deep in the mine mine

Is there anything left we haven’t tried?

Anybody that doesn’t have a price?

A certain amount of money’s gonna make it right

All your dreams plus a nice flash light

But why do I have to depend on making me a better bet?

Or building a sellable noise?  Do I even have a choice?

What worth is a song if we can’t take it to the market in the Fall?

Put a rhyme on a sugary flake.  I’m selling like hot cakes.

Give me a wife with a plastic face

A foreign car and I’m feeling great

All other guys are gonna think I’m boss

Thinkin’ I’m sipping on a secret sauce

It hits you right when the hiding starts

A shadow over your better heart

You can drink it only so far away

It’s always coming back another day

But why do I have to depend on making me a better bet?

Or building a sellable noise?  Do I even have a choice?

What worth is a song if we can’t take it to the market in the Fall?

Put a rhyme on a sugary flake.  I’m selling like hot cakes.

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