Ripping along towards middle age

And my music career kind of missed a page

Record sales began to drop

The management all began to hop

Not worry, they said, you'll see

What you need is some fresh publicity

Just give us a nod and we'll all leap

Towards putting you back at the top of the heap

I said, Fine, I'll give it a whack

I hung up the phone and I turned my back

Began daydreaming I was somebody else

When the phone jumped over from the wall to the shelf

We just had a break, this is really fine

We can make the January issue of TIME

If you'll give us Monday, a week from today

From two to four, now what do you say?



I said, TIME, TIME mag, mag

You got me on the rag, rag

Take your insults about the queen

And shove them up your royal Timese machine



But I scribbled it down on the wall calendar

And wondered about my interviewer

Maybe he'd be just a real nice guy

Bright and sympathetic with a roving eye

We'd forget all about the assignment due

Formalities, photos, and the interview

We'd hop on into his big rent-a-car

Go for a lovely drive, not far....maybe France

As the big day approached it slipped my mind

Till my secretary showed up at the house to remind

Me to switch into gear for the big coup de gras

The meeting with the man from the media

I swept the driveway and polished the phone

Put on a Kenzo knit in two-tone

Fluffed the pillows in the burgundy chair

Made up my eyes and brushed my hair...all in that order

When he called to say he was three hours late

My cheerful facade began to disintegrate

The photographer'd be even later still

She was hopelessly lost in the nearby hills

He arrived not exactly the man of