Sell, Sell, Sell

The credits roll, the camera pans
And in the mist, our hero stands
He starts to speak, then folds his hands in prayer
An awkward pause, then, "What's my line?"
There's nothing left to say this time
And what would you say to a bad guy who's not there?

In terms of Roman numerals, he's IV league with Roman Polanski
He'd win an Oscar every time if he was only given the chance

He started on the Broadway stage
A product of another age
An offer and a pilot drew him West
The series bombed, commercials came
And though nobody knew his name
They all recognized the potential he possessed

Deodorants and dental floss and, "How much does that new car cost?"
His acting most methodical and you don't need a medical
He's branded like a racing car, he's like a movie star without movies

The week of Independence Day
The casting agent called to say
"Your smile could save our movie and the world"

Buy, buy, buy, buy, sell, sell, sell
How well you learn to not discern
Who's foe and who is friend
We'll own them all in the end

It goes like this, we have no choice
The minarets, the wailing voice
And vaguely Celtic music fills the air
We choose a foreigner to hate
The new Iraq gets more irate
We really know nothing about them, and no one cares

Aladdin and the 40 thieves, enhanced by brand-new special effects
Saddam and his cow disease spiced up with some gratuitous sex

A movie's made, a war is won
A low-speed chase, a smoking gun
Distracts us while the actor takes the stand

Buy, buy, buy, buy, sell, sell, sell
How well you learn to not discern
Who's foe and who is friend
We'll own them all in the end



Credits
Writer(s): Steven Page, Ed Robertson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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