In the early twentieth century, there was a certain street in New York City which came to be known as Tin Pan Alley. There, songwriters would congregate, and move about from office to office, attempting to peddle their art as commodity. Today, Tin Pan Alley is much, much larger, and is called The Internet. It's a horrible place, painted all green on the inside, where musicians and former executives take turns snorting detergent and plooking each other.
This is a song about commercialism, and how it's only fun when you're actually making money.