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