Each mornin' grabs the trade rags, and scours for his name,
until the fog lifts from his night shift that snow-heat thru his brain
And his track record aint great,
but he knows a good place for steak

Once grabbed a group with a singer that was cute, before he lost it in L.A.,
A healthy little tax write off, the 10 x 8's all thrown away
And he'd really feel the guilt,
if his dayplanner weren't filled

Wouldn't movies be easier,
more people with brains,
less sweat and vomit stains

When my ship comes rolling in
with the next big thing,
where's the next best thing
(hop to it boy)

How is the air up there?

Summers are spent upstate clear that noise out of your head,
Of hopes and dreams and tombstones man, them kids are desperate,
Don't fix the stereo,
coz it's all maths you know..

Wouldn't movies be easier,
more people with brains,
less sweat and vomit stains

When my ship comes rolling in
with the next big thing,
here's the next best thing

Here's the next big thing