I've read all about a new service
For the recently bereaved
A way of preserving your loved ones
That must be heard to be believed
It would be perfect for a musician
And must surely be the choice
Of the ego gone wild who was strangely beguiled
With the sound of their very own voice

Shortly after you snuff it
And your body's been toasted to ash
They'll mix you into a 7-inch
For a sizeable pile of cash
But what if there is an afterlife?
The chances, I know, sure, are thin
But will it have an effect you could maybe detect
When you're giving that platter a spin?

CHORUS
Help! Help! I'm stuck in a record!
It happened right after I died
My ashes were pressed into vinyl
Now my soul is trapped inside!
Can somebody call me an exorcist
Say a prayer or a quick “amen”?
Though I'm not in my grave I'm still spinning
Doing about 45 RPM

Perhaps we're approaching this wrongly
As there's surely some fun to be had?
Like scaring the kids totally shitless
With a posthumous “Boo!” from their Dad
You could mentally torment the greedy
By exploiting the medium's flaws
"I've got millions in cash, in a secret stash
And you'll find it in ..."

You could be the DJ's featured artist
On the decks at some family do
Imagine their sense of discomfort
Hearing songs about death sung by you
You could stitch up a long-despised relly
For a crime that they didn't commit
And you'll welcome your fate, knowing someone you hate
Has been dropped head-first into the shit

CHORUS
Help! Help! I'm stuck in a record!
And it's all your Uncle Keith's work!
I forgot to repay him that fiver
So he went absolutely berserk!
Can somebody call a policeman?
I was bisected by Keith with an axe!
I once had a friend and a fiver
Now, I've two sides and four or five tracks

Don't want no scratches
Or audio mush
So, clean off the disc with
That velvety brush
'Cause I've always wanted
To be “the new sound”
So turn up the volume and
Spin me round, baby, right round!