You Press the Button, We Do the Rest

In '83 while Berlin I took the chance to ogle At silver plates and bichromates developed by Herr Vogel And so began a love affair which blossomed into passion For all things photographical, but now my face is ashen Oh, I refer, of course, to Mr Eastman's new construction A regular Pandora's box put into mass production Those fools who dream they're artists are to me a tad deluded For owning your own Kodak doesn't stop you being stupid Out into the sticks they carry it Every Tom and Dick and Harriet Furiously pedalling upon their chariots Snap snap snap snap snap they go Why they snap they do not know They disregard discretion, they eschew the right to choose Like mindless big-game hunters they'll shoot anything that moves I don't suggest that you'll progress to better lumière But this clowning with a Browning is frankly more than I can bear Their rolls of nitrocellulose exposed beyond redemption It's back to Eastman's factory for God knows whose attention And then as if expecting heaven's blessing from the stork They wait for a delivery postmarked Rochester, New York Out into the sticks they carry it Every Tom and Dick and Harriet Furiously pedalling upon their chariots Snap snap snap snap snap they go Why they snap they just don't know You push the button, and we do the rest Well not unlike that button I am suddenly depressed Out into the sticks they carry it Every Tom and Dick and Harriet Furiously pedalling upon their chariots Snap snap snap snap snap they go Why they snap they do not know You're all obsessed with things extraneous Only interested in the instantaneous Suddenly somebody's muddling up the quickest with the brainiest Snap snap snap snap snap they go Why they snap they do not know Snap snap snap snap snap they go Why they snap they'll never know