A bit of frustration with lazy, bigoted journalists who casually play to our collective bigotry.
lyrics
Sitting by the phone,
Waiting for a bone from the fellas;
Race hate, click-bait, soft scandals
Are the sellers!
'Homicide', he cries, 'ab deo profundit!'
That's another round of stellas
On my boy the pundit!
Oh, those boozy Britain eds-
He loves to pen 'em;
Caraffe of red resting on his trousers
Of white denim;
You're screaming 'Hypocrite', 'Mon frere',he glares, 'One has to fund it!'
I'll support free speech, not free venom
From my boy the pundit!
Aren't we blessed with
The free press? Yes,
We've fought from Mill to Milton;
So why do we waste
Our page 3 space?
Ain't that what all
Free nations are built on?
The world ain't rosy- more rosé
Where he's sitting-
You've got to get angry
If it's going to get written.
If there's outrage on his page,
Just remember, he bummed it!
He says 'The migrants are misogynist,
And we need more strip-clubs in Britain'-
Does my boy the pundit!
credits
from Electric Ladywood,
released September 25, 2020
Dominic Hyde: songwriting, lead vox, guitars, bass
Dan Hayward: drums
Jobe Baker-Sullivan: saxophones
Anne-Marie Allen, Michela Reghellin, Karen Swan, Benjamin Cre8: choir
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