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• Artiste: Steve Taylor
• Titre: Meat The Press
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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