Story Behind the Song
A song about the frustrations of an aspiring, unconventional rock and roll road band from rural Pennsylvania in the heyday of Grand Funk Railroad
Lyrics
Don't get no groupies, I ain't makin' no mint, but I love to play my guitar.
Small "big time promoters" tell us we must sell out or we won't get very far
We play hick high schools and bad-vibe-rating bars
Guess you'd say we're paying our dues
But there's one toll that's the meanest of all, it's them Booking Agent Blues
First there was Stanley and his fat buddy, Frank, whose bands could never get too tight
Then Hubba and Salt at Poppy Rock time--such money, they made, was it right?
Not much for giving, but they know how to take, if we'd let 'em, they'd steal our shoes
Jobs coming in faster than molasses in heat, got them Booking Agent Blues
Don't mean to say that they're all bad; might find an honest one soon
Meanwhile, I'll just stick out my thumb and hitchhike to the moon
So far, we haven't signed nothing, with luck I think we never will
I just hope that those hard times ahead don't push us to the poisoned quill
Take fifteen percent, if we're lucky just ten, or flesh by the pound and ounce
After all, we may get to play here again, and hope the check won't bounce
Not much for giving, but they know how to take
We go barefoot 'cause they stole our shoes
Jobs coming in faster than molasses in heat. Got them Booking Agent Blues.
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