He gets up real early on his mornin' drive
Down to the office for his nine to five
He drives a '94, two-tone, economy car
He loves to tell the local bands down at the bar that he's the critic

Yeah, 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, 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 5-star column on a band he never heard
He did a bluegrass review about 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's even readin' your page

Yeah
So he thought
And he thought a little more

He caught a young hot star headin' into town
And then he hid behind his typewriter and gunned the boy down
Here come the letters, the e-mails, the faxes, they raised him to twenty thousand dollars after taxes

Now he's a happy critic
He say I'm rollin' in the dough
Man I could do this forever, this is easy
Everybody's readin' my column

Hey ah, y'all don't tell my mom, that I write the music column for the gazette
'Cause uh, he still thinks I play piano down at the Cathouse

Got my self-respect back though
Let's get funky with this boys, play it out now, play it out

Come on Scotty, let's do this thing
Like we always did this thing
Jump in there Dave
Help me, oh we're walkin' the dog now
Walk it on out
Y'all better hurry, my fingers are gettin' tired
Y'all gonna have to hurry
Wearin' me out
No coffee break, ah
I'll tell you somethin' boy
This sounds like a take to me
And they gonna love you 'cause they already love me
It's the critic

Copyright: Tokeco Tunes
Writer(s): Toby Keith