[Intro: museum hush, footsteps echo, one vinyl scratch] [Docent] Keep up, sir [Heckler] That ain't real music [Hook: Docent leads, Heckler barks "Fake!"] [Heckler] Fake! [Docent] Welcome to the Hall of Fakes, keep your hands behind the rope Every legend on the wall got called a gimmick and a joke [Heckler] Fake! [Docent] Every sound you kneel to got called fake before it got famous And the ones who called it fake? Ain't a plaque in here that names 'em [Verse 1: Docent, deadpan, strings swell at every room] Room one. Piano. Eighty-eight teeth and a lid They swore a box of hammers couldn't feel what fingers did "Mechanical." "A fad." "It'll ruin the ear" Now the church can't bury nobody without one here Room two. Guitar with a cord up its spine First night it got plugged in, they booed it like a crime Called it lazy, called it noise, called it cheap, called it loud Now your uncle plays it badly at the cookout for a crowd [Heckler] That's different [Docent] It's always different, sir. Room three. Watch your step Drum machine behind the glass. They swore it starved the drummers out Now it's knockin' under every song you ever sang about [Hook] [Heckler] Fake! [Docent] Welcome to the Hall of Fakes, keep your hands behind the rope Every legend on the wall got called a gimmick and a joke [Heckler] Fake! [Docent] Every sound you kneel to got called fake before it got famous And the ones who called it fake? Ain't a plaque in here that names 'em [Verse 2: Docent, meaner, the breakbeat gets dirtier] Room four. Sampler. "That's stealin'. That's a crime" Now the college got a class on it, Tuesdays, half past nine [Heckler] Real music comes from pain! [Docent] Sir, you paid fourteen dollars to stand in air conditionin' Real pain is the gift shop. Real pain is how the fuck you listen [Flow switch: half-time, leanin' on every word] You don't love music. You love bein' first And the second it gets crowded, you start callin' it a curse You ain't guardin' music. You guardin' a year The year you stopped listenin' and started standin' here [Beat Switch: drums drop to room tone and one long string note, then the breakbeat slams back double-time] [Verse 3: Docent, double-time, the last room] Last room's new, we hung it Thursday, you can still smell the paint Man in a glass case, arms crossed, mouth stuck on "ain't" Same squint as the critic in room one, same frown as the two and the four Every century builds a man in a case, and, sir, you the newest one on the floor "That ain't real music." Year? Today. Same words, brand new face Hundred years from now they'll be dancin' to the thing that put you in this case [Final Hook: Docent alone, the heckler never answers] Welcome to the Hall of Fakes, keep your hands behind the rope Every legend on the wall got called a gimmick and a joke Every sound you kneel to got called fake before it got famous And the man in the case who called it fake? Finally, a plaque that names him [Outro: footsteps walk away, a light switch clicks, the breakbeat stops dead]
