The Critic
Toby Keith · Shock'n Y'All [2003]
Tell it like it is
He gets up real early on his morning drive
Down to the office for his 9 to 5
He drives a '94 twotone economy car
Loves to tell the local bands down at the bar
That he's the critic
Yea, I can hook you up
I know everybody in the business
He flunked junior high band
He couldn't march in time
He tried to write a song once
But he couldn't make it rhyme
He learned two or three chords
On a pawn shop guitar
He just never quite had what it took to be a star
So he's a critic
I work for The Gazette man
I got a real job
He did a five star column on a band you've never heard
He did a bluegrass review without an unkind word
He thought it was time to ask his boss for a raise
His boss said 'I can't even tell if anybody is even reading your page'
Yea
So he thought, and he thought a little more
He caught a young hot star headed into town
And then he hid behind his typewriter and gunned the boy down
Here come the letters, the emails, the faxes
They raised him to 20,000 dollars after taxes
He's a happy critic
Yea, he's rollin' in the dough
Man I could do this forever, this is easy
They are all reading my column
Please don't tell my mom
That I write the music column for The Gazette
She still thinks that I play piano down at the cathouse
Let's get funky with this now boys
Play it on
Come on Shannon
There's old Biff jumpin' in
Glenn's laying it down
Come on Shannon
My man Steve
Man my fingers are getting tired
Y'all gonna have to hurry here
This snappin' thing's wearin' me out
There's old Shannon
I guess he was on a coffee break
They're gonna love you
'Cause they already love me
Yea, it's the critic
He gets up real early on his morning drive
Down to the office for his 9 to 5
He drives a '94 twotone economy car
Loves to tell the local bands down at the bar
That he's the critic
Yea, I can hook you up
I know everybody in the business
He flunked junior high band
He couldn't march in time
He tried to write a song once
But he couldn't make it rhyme
He learned two or three chords
On a pawn shop guitar
He just never quite had what it took to be a star
So he's a critic
I work for The Gazette man
I got a real job
He did a five star column on a band you've never heard
He did a bluegrass review without an unkind word
He thought it was time to ask his boss for a raise
His boss said 'I can't even tell if anybody is even reading your page'
Yea
So he thought, and he thought a little more
He caught a young hot star headed into town
And then he hid behind his typewriter and gunned the boy down
Here come the letters, the emails, the faxes
They raised him to 20,000 dollars after taxes
He's a happy critic
Yea, he's rollin' in the dough
Man I could do this forever, this is easy
They are all reading my column
Please don't tell my mom
That I write the music column for The Gazette
She still thinks that I play piano down at the cathouse
Let's get funky with this now boys
Play it on
Come on Shannon
There's old Biff jumpin' in
Glenn's laying it down
Come on Shannon
My man Steve
Man my fingers are getting tired
Y'all gonna have to hurry here
This snappin' thing's wearin' me out
There's old Shannon
I guess he was on a coffee break
They're gonna love you
'Cause they already love me
Yea, it's the critic