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作曲 : John Dempsey/Dana P. Rowe
Reed:
You've gotta remember Cal
It's gonna be your face
Shing from the magazines
Your smile
Striking up the band
Your words
Splashed across the bumperstickers
Your voice
Heard throughout the land
The people think they hire you
Can kick you to the curb
Their voices may be many
But you get the reverb
It's gonna be your thoughts
In the periodicals
Your Nerve
Stirrin' up the coals
Your eyes
Staring from the bully-pulpits
Your song
Climbing up the poles
The masses think they own you
Can throw you on the ropes
Sure, they can change a channel
But you can bump the soaps
Cal: No, no, no Dad...! Land mines...
Reed: Don't you worry, son!
I've danced around worse than this before.
You just gotta remember a few basic rules...
Public office is a minefield
Right! Left!
One wrong step, you're blown away
Hey!
Lead your opponent t'ward the fray
That's how it's done
Do all you know to trick your foe
To keep him unaware
Cal: Dad...
Reed: Shhhhhhh!
Cal: Oh
Reed: He'll walk straight into a snare
"Sayonara", "C'est la guerre"
And kid you've won!
Cal & Reed: And then...
It's gonna be your face...
Your smile...
Your words...
Your style...
Your eyes
Playin' up the public
Your sweat
Payin' up the toll
Your prize
Ya gotta remember
You're lost without
There ain't no doubt
It's all about control...
Control!
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