Tribute

[Verse 1: Sunset Strip hair-metal male lead, big wail over the gated drums] Thursday night at Starlite Lanes, out past the shoe-rental stand Four grown men in rented leather playin' somebody's band I'm Rikki Blaze of Crimson Lace in a wig down to my back Every scream on every record, I can hit it, every track Eight years of league-night bowlers with their nachos and their beer Eight years of "Lace Me Up" at half past ten, and they cheer Nobody here has seen him since the band split up for good Last we heard he sold insurance on a street in Hollywood But we wear the lace, we spray the hair, we never skip a note Every kick and every split and every lyric that he wrote [Hook: hair-metal male lead, guitars wailing] We're the tribute, every high note, every scarf and every pose We play it like it's holy in the leather and the hose Some folks pay to see the real thing, some folks pay to see the clone We're the tribute, and tonight we pay the tribute that we owe [Verse 2: hair-metal male lead, shredding guitar runs between the lines] Then a bald man in a polo takes a table by the lane Orders club soda with a lime and never looks away again And he winces when our drummer's late a hair on every snare And he grins at every split I do like he was once up there At the break he sets a pick down, says, "Your scream is better, kid It's better than mine ever was, and I should know, I did" And I see the little scar he got from a mic stand to the face And the bald man in the polo is the singer of Crimson Lace [Hook: hair-metal male lead, guitars wailing] We're the tribute, every high note, every scarf and every pose We play it like it's holy in the leather and the hose Some folks pay to see the real thing, some folks pay to see the clone We're the tribute, and tonight we pay the tribute that we owe [Verse 3: hair-metal male lead, the real singer at the side mic] So I hand him the microphone, he shakes his head, "Not mine I can't hit that anymore, kid, but I can sing behind" So he grabs the backup mic and stands right where our bass man stood And Rikki Blaze sings harmony on the song he wrote for good [Wig Toss: hair-metal male lead, the guitars wailing as he throws the wig into lane nine] And I pull the wig right off my head and throw it down lane nine League-night bowlers jump up screamin', standin' on the line Now it's two guys in the spotlight where the bowling pins go down One's the real thing, one's the copy, and they're sharin' one sound And the man who made the music's singin' backup for the clone Payin' tribute to the tribute, and he's never sung so strong [Hook: hair-metal male lead, guitars wailing] We're the tribute, every high note, every scarf and every pose We play it like it's holy in the leather and the hose Some folks pay to see the real thing, some folks pay to see the clone We're the tribute, and tonight we pay the tribute that we owe [End]