(In honor of the last day of publication for News of the World--don't let the door hit'cha where the Good Lord split'cha, hey?. And in fervent hope that the public and Fourth Estate will jointly raise the standard of "journalism.")
Hackin', got my soul cashed in, just hackin', working for The Man
A raccoon more or less tipping society's trash can.
The newstands bleed scandal and ink onto Main Street
It's not news if it don't line the pockets of Fleet Street
A typical tabloid shilling self-serving pipe-dreams:
It's about ads justifyin' the means.
Royals under the microscope, celebrities are the dope:
More grease for our slipperly slope, just can't let 'em be, oh no.
Most of the blokes that you meet say they're looking for real news
Most of the time they're zoning and surfing the 'tubes.
But they'd have to read past the model on Page 2--
I say screw 'em, they'll never be nothing but rubes.
Hackin', working for The Man, no point making a principled stand
My profession ain't worth a dime, if I can't drag it down.
Now a spot-light is shinin' on me,
So bright that I can barely see.
Lately it occurs to me, what a sordid trip it's been.
What in the world ever became of ethics?
Somehow we find ourselves in sleaze up past our necks--
Slinging right-wing propaganda and cheap sex
Just try and complain--we'll "profile" you next.
Hackin', got to buffalo the public--got to tell the proles
How they're gonna vote in the polls, and just keep hackin' on
My job is to keep the powerful honest
So next week I'm havin' drinks with the PM
I'd like some time to primp for that love-fest,
But if you've got a warrant, I guess you're gonna come in.
Hoisted on my own petard, watching this whole house of cards
Come down, I've run out of canards to hold off Scotland Yard--oh no.
So we'll pardon the lord and punish the minion--
The pols and public never tire of that schtick:
Even in the court of public opinion,
With no sex in the scandal, no way you'll make it stick.
Now a spot-light is shinin' on me,
So bright that I can barely see.
Lately it occurs to me, what a sordid trip it's been.
Hackin', Imma find a new home, whoa, whoa baby, back where I belong,
Starting next Sunday with The Sun, and just keep hackin' on.
Hey now, get back hackin' on.
