Meat The Press - Steve Taylor

In a ninety-floor Manhattan address

Lives a watchdog called the National Press

And around his collar’s written the line

«The Protector Of Our Hearts And Minds»

Hark!

Hark!

The dog will bark

And we believe this hierarch

But read between the lines and see

This dog’s been barking up the wrong tree

Meat the Press

Meat the Press

Meat the Press

Meat the Press

When the ratings point the camera’s eye

They can state the facts while telling a lie

And the watchdog shows to the viewers at ten

He’s a bloodhound with a pad and pen

Can’t pin the blame--he's out of reach

Just call the dog «His Royal Leech»

We held the rights for heaven’s sake

'Til we gave this sucker an even break

Meat the Press

Meat the Press

Meat the Press

Meat the Press

When the godless chair the judgment seat

We can thank the godless media elite

They can silence those who fall from their grace

With a note that says «we haven’t the space»

Well lookee there--the dog’s asleep

Whenever we march or say a peep

A Christian can’t get equal time

Unless he’s a looney committing a crime

Listen up if you’ve got ears

I’m tired of condescending sneers

I’ve got a dog who smells a fight

And he still believes in wrong and right