Fred found fortune and great fame.
Countless strangers screamed his name
At concerts where he played guitar.
Fred's job title was 'Rock Star'.

But this was many years ago.
His fame has reached an all-time low.
He's noticed there's a glaring lack
Of paparazzi to attack.

If he could choose he'd say 'oh yes'
To gross intrusion from the press,
With TV camera crews as well
To make his life a living hell.

He waits while his Madeira cake browns.
He misses having nervous breakdowns,
And flying without ever knowing
The country where the band were going.

Nowadays he bakes and cooks.
He makes the cakes described in books
By TV chefs who live like stars.
They've got Jacuzzis in their cars.

They go to bars where groupies wait
With bated breath and tempting bait.
They swear and shout as much abuse
As ego-swollen bands let loose.

Fred remembers good old days,
Despite an alcoholic haze,
Days when they'd drive cars in pools
And open doors with power tools,

Even though they had their keys.
They'd always do just as they please.
But nowadays most bands are tame.
They'd rather not abuse their fame.

They don't throw knives or TV sets
Or take short trips in private jets
To have their pets' dry cleaning done.
They never talk to their best gun.

They dread bad press. It's sad to see
That every fad is said to be
The brand new rock and roll. It seems
That even dancers harbour dreams

Of being stars in sequined clothes
And stealing scenes on TV shows,
While modern rock stars love being seen
Saving fuel and being green.

Fred decides the time has come
To pound out beats on rock's war drum,
To call all former stars to arms.
They'll leave the safety of health farms.

They'll all re-form their bands and fight.
They'll wield guitars to make things right.
The younger bands won't stand the pace.
Their egos will be seen from space.

Fred will call his old band mates
And they'll display their former traits.
Drunken fights will be the norm,
Then healing in a nurses' dorm.

They'll go on tour and never tire
Of watching maids put out a fire.
They'll catch the world's lapels and shake,
As soon as Fred has iced his cake.