This was a song about sudden death, natural catastrophe, pestilence, nuclear war and drug abuse. I then decided it was too depressing. so I turned it into a pop song. There's more to a pop song than random beeps, bops and boops, y'know. These must be administered in the correct number, and in a precise, scientifically-determined order.
That wasn't my biggest problem, though. Imagine my chagrin when I discovered that there is an inflexible rule in the music industry -- and I quote in full RIAA bylaw 203.6 d) subsection iii): "All instances of songs with elements including, but not restricted to the lyrics "beep," "bop," and "boop," as well as ornamentations such as handclaps and tamborines and/or kazoo or vuvuzela playing must have those elements vocalized/performed by no less than three (3) attractive young Negresses [you'll have to forgive the archaic language here, as it was written back in the '60s] with beehive (or at least bouffant) hairdos, of no greater than 23 years of age; 'cause anyone older -- and this is especially true for you, bub -- would look kind of ridiculous in the standard uniform required of backup singers; that being miniskirts or hotpants and neon-colored blouses. Go-go boots are optional."
So, whew! Thank God I found out the rule before releasing this to the world, causing me untold shame in the general public, not to mention Motown. (I'm still open to working with the attractive young Negresses, though.)