Be patient and wait to start the song, please.
You are now reading: London Beckoned Songs About Money Written by Machines
The boys didn't know what they were going to do when they stepped foot into that building...
Brendon looks over at Spencer, Ryan, and Brent as they stand outside what they would call, paradise. Fueled By Ramen. The best record label they could have ever thought of. Thanks to an old friend, Pete Wentz, Panic! At The Disco is finally going to become a famous band. No more, garage band gigs. No more, preforming in small areas. It's time for the big leagues. There was no more stalling now. There was no going back. This is it. The time were they make a name for themselves.
"Well, boys," Brendon says. "It's time." They all of in agreement, grabbing their things and all walking inside. It was beautiful inside. Big white walls with delicate paintings. Posters of previous bands that signed contracts with the record label. Brendon started to feel the pressure of signing a contract with such a huge record label. What if they don't like our song? Will they still sign us? Will they kick us out? What if we aren't good enough?
Ryan ran up behind Brendon as they walk up to the receptionist.
"We're gonna make it, Brendon," he whispered. "I know it!" Brendon laughed nervously but still held a smile. Making this band was probably the best idea he had at such a young age. But to him, back then, it was for fun. They wrote stupid songs just to get laughs out of the families. But now, aging and becoming "mature" as his mother would say, he has gotten serious with their music. Now look where they are, in the FBR studio, waiting to become a big hit.
"Hello, how may I help you?" She asked in a kind voice.
"Hello, umm, we're Panic! At The Disco. We're here for the contract?" He told her. She smiled fondly and typed into her computer.
"Yes, I see. Room 214. They'll be in there. Fifth floor," she informed them.
"Thank you ma'am!" Ryan said. They all hustled to elevator and pressed the fifth floor. In the elevator, all four of the boys were laughing.
"I can't believe we're doing this!" Spencer shouted.
"I'm so excited!" Brent said.
"We're gonna be FAMOUS!" Ryan added enthusiastically. All the boys cheered. The bell dinged and all filed out and rushed to the given room. Inside stood two men.
"Hello, you must be Panic! At The Disco." One spoke.
"Yes we are!" Brendon greeted. "I'm Brendon. This is Ryan, Brent, and Spencer!" They all walk up to shake hands with the men. They smile gently at the four boys.
"Take your things into the recording room, we would like to listen to what we're getting ourselves into before we give you the papers," the other said. Brendon nodded and signaled the rest of the band into the small room.
After setting up Spencer's drum kit, Brendon started a count down.
"This song is called 'London Beckoned Songs About Money Written by Machines.' One, two, one two three four—
You may start the song
"Stop stalling, make a name for yourself
Boy, you better put that pen to paper and charm your way out
If you talk, you better walk
You better back your shit up
With more than good hooks
While you're all under the gun
Start talking a sensationalist
Oh, he's slightly clever to just a certain extent
If you talk, you better walk
You better keep your mouth shut
With more than good hooks
While you're all under the gun
Panic! meet the Press
It's time for us to take a chance
It's time for us to take a chance
Panic! meet the Press
It's time for us to take a chance
It's time for us
Well we're just a wet dream for the web scene
Make us it, make us hip, make us scene
Or shrug us off your shoulders
Don't approve a single word we wrote
Well we're just a wet dream for the webzines
Make us it, mke us hip, make us scene
Or shrug us off your shoulders
Don't approve a single word we wrote—"
"I like it," one man said. "They're not afraid to be different." The other hummed in agreement.
"I'm burning and I'm blacking my lungs
Boy, you know it feels good with fire back on your tongue
If you talk, you better walk
You better back your shit up
With more than good hooks
While you're all under the gun
Start talking a sensationalist
Oh, he's slightly clever to just a certain extent
Oh, keep quiet let us sing like the doves
Then decide if it's done with purpose or lack thereof
Just for the record
The weather today is slightly sarcastic with a good chance of
A. Indifference and b. disinterest in what the critics say
It's time for us to take a chance
It's time for us
Well we're just a wet dream for the webzines
Make us it, make us hip, make us scene
Or shrug us off your shoulders
Don't approve a single word we wrote
Well we're just a wet dream for the webzines
Make us it, make us hip, make us scene
Or shrug us off your shoulders
Don't approve a single word we wrote
Just for the record
The weather today is slightly sarcastic with a good chance of
A. Indifference and b. Disinterest in what the critics say
Well we're just a wet dream for the webzines
Make us it, make us hip, make us scene
Or shrug us off your shoulders
Don't approve a single word we wrote
Well we're just a wet dream for the webzines
Make us it, make us hip, make us scene
Or shrug us off your shoulders
Don't approve a single word we wrote
Just for the record
The weather today is slightly sarcastic with a good chance of
A. Indifference and b. Disinterest in what the critics say..."
By the end of the song, all four of the boys were sweating. The two men clapped for them and opened the door into the room.
"Congratulations, boys, you're FBR material!" The boys cheered. This was the start of something new...
The boys didn't know what they were going to do when they stepped foot into that building.
But after preforming their song, they were soon on the road.
Thus, Panic! At The Disco was born.
Next Up:
Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks
YOU ARE READING
A Book You Can't Sweat Out
FanficI had ideas like this that I wanted to do in a long time and now it's becoming a reality
