Lyrics

He lays a sheet of white paper On a gravy stained table He wipes the palms of his hands on his jeans He turns "Imagine" up loud He knows that face and that cloud And he don't stop counting While he's spilling the beans Cos now he's going to tell us all The truth about John Tho' he needs a little help To speed up the prose He was taken on trust But that wasn't enough You lose some friends this way But that's how it goes Here she comes to trail the cameras In her wake, and sable She wears the scent that only comes with success She says it was love But she wasn't above Selling her secrets To the national press And now she's going to tell us all The truth about John Tho' she needs a little help To speed up the prose He counted on you And who cares if it's true? You're as bad as the man Who landed the blows And they're all going to tell us now The truth about John Again and again on the interview shows And if the truth isn't nice Well that just adds to the price Oh, make sure those wounds never close Get your cut, you cut-price writer Get your cut in this cut-throat game The more the cut, the more he grab, yeah He's just a someone out to stab you