Obsolete

Once upon a time, concierges were in style
Now they've been replaced by keypads, no denial
In my town, there were no parking meters
I’d see workers munching on omelet sandwiches, real eaters
The past comes back to me like a yo-yo
An omnipresent past, it’s not just a show
The Halles replaced by Costes, what a change
The metaphor of Madeleines speeds by, feels so strange
The air was pure, Paris was a sight
Now the subway fare rises like the number of cars in sight
Oh shit! On TV, there’s no more host
Just B-movies I’d rate at fifteen cents, that’s the most
The States throw us these cheap flicks
I watch them, my mind notes they’re obsolete tricks.
Obsolete but stylish, the phrase that will follow
"The man who grabs the mic and the name owns the double A"—no hollow
Variety is his target, SOLAAR the crossbow
That pierces this tired tune and elevates the show
Crafting for decades, a hand on my art
To make it move in slow-mo, tearing it apart
But the Great Spirit handles it all, don’t you fret!
He unmasks the music and puts it on the debt
Then writes in italics on his agenda, you see
The top things he doesn’t like, just let it be
To be clear and straight, the heart’s in sync with the ear
Just like in my ears, the "variety" hooks up with Obsolete, my dear
Obsolete is also the tease who
Wore fishnets and reeked of patchouli too
For services rendered, she says, "I’ll pay you in kind"
And I stay stoic when she offers me jams, so refined
This is forgotten when in December’s chill
She calls me up and says, "Come pick me up, if you will"
In short! I indulge with delight
Sweet as mead, I’m feeling just right
Then she slips, she weaves, between the smooth thighs of the Miss
Her eyes squint, and she says, "Stop your vice, don’t miss"
I’m like a bullet, she plays the racket’s role
The seducer thinks she’s a starlet, on a stroll
But know that in the film archives, your near flips
Are filed in the B-movie section, in the Obsolete scripts.