From Neil Young’s Crime in the City:

The artist looked at the producer
The producer sat back
He said, What we have got here
Is a perfect track
But we don’t have a vocal
And we don’t have a song
If we could get these things accomplished
Nothin’ else could go wrong.
So he balanced the ashtray
As he picked up the phone
And said, Send me a songwriter
Who’s drifted far from home
And make sure that he’s hungry
Make sure he’s alone
Send me a cheeseburger
And a new Rolling Stone.
Yeah.