Lyrics

You don't care about people's thoughts. You probe into the mind, then you haunt What you print, people believe, complicating lives, what the f*ck does that achieve? Now you're looking for some news, changing around facts and views Receiving money for empty lies. Sly reporters I despise you Will there be that extra in this week? Now you're climbing to the journalist peak Sitting at the typewriter making more lies up. Rearranged to suit you, then f*ck me up Now I'm getting sick of you. Coming around here, making news Whatever you print, you can't lose. But can't you see the damage that you do?