| Why d’you wanna make that shit up?
|
| Why d’you have to deal in gossip?
|
| Why d’you wanna quote that rubbish?
|
| Why don’t you do something less boring!
|
| You sit on your ass, tap your computer
|
| What you wrote was wrong in the paper
|
| You lazy hack typing fiction into fact
|
| What you write is crap, bad, slack!
|
| Sit right there, swivel on your chair
|
| Why don’t you turn your lies to love?
|
| Why d’you wanna waste the hours?
|
| Why d’you have to rake up muck?
|
| Why do you wanna sell the story?
|
| Why d’ya have to tell those lies?
|
| Cut down tress to zombify my mind
|
| No, I do not want my London standard
|
| Or the Sun or the Star or all your tabloid blah
|
| Sit right there, sleep at your desk
|
| Why don’t you print less lies?
|
| Why d’you wanna waste the hours?
|
| Why d’you have to rake up muck?
|
| Why do you wanna sell the story?
|
| Why d’ya have to tell those lies?
|
| Why don’t you do something less boring?
|
| Why have you got no respect?
|
| And why are you obsessed with sex?
|
| Lies! |