Standing outside the pawnshop,
Two hundred dollars in his hands,
He’s been working real hard at that after school job,
Now he wants to play in a rock’n’roll band.
It’s been in the window for three whole days
Just calling out his name.
All black six-string, white pick guard, saying
C’mon boy, let’s get in the game.

Well This Machine brings fortune, yeah
This Machine will get you girls,
This Machine kills fascists I’m told,
This Machine will change the world.
Oh, This Machine builds dreams.

He screams into the mike, in an empty bar,
He’s about to bust a blood vessel.
Playing three chords through a worn out amp,
Standing on stage with his pawnshop special.
Some guy in a suit says he digs the sound.
“I can get you a deal alright.”
Till he stumbles in a stupor, knocks over a chair,
And the bouncer throws him out into the dead of night.


Ten years pass, and he needs some cash.
He’s looking around for things to sell.
His shining dreams have been cast aside,
Collecting dust on an attic shelf.
Young girl stands in a pawnshop,
Pays two hundred dollars for this machine.
She’s been writing her poems in a tattered notebook.
Now, she’s got songs…
She wants to sing.



The Story
"Rock'n'roll, like most other forms of folk music, is perpetual. There's always someone to come along and pick up the mantle. I wanted to capture that in a song.
Also, I wanted to kind of show the desperation of the music scene in my hometown in the '90's. So many musicians and so many bands wanted a shot at the big time, or at the very least a regular paying gig. There's alot of songs that tell a similar story, but I didn't want this one to end with the kid achieving fame and fortune, and all his dreams coming true. I wouldn't know how to write it that way."
-Jason Riggs, 2006