-> "The Death Of The Westchester Herald"
Original Song Title:
"The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald"
Parody Song Title:
"The Death Of The Westchester Herald"
the legend lives on but the paper's now gone,
as they closed up, they all said "so sue me"
the paper, it's said, never often was read,
democrats always see things so gloomy
with a load of tripe more, when they lose they are sore
but in truth, the wee paper was empty
with the GOP skewed, their ass always chewed
but chapter eleven came early
the rag was the pride of the democrat side
when it started it's print in wisconsin
as the bullshitters go, it was bigger than most,
with the writers well trained and well seasoned
while theycame to terms, I thought they were worms
when they opened up office in Cleveland
and later that year when the stock fell back
could it be that right backlash they're feelin?
the sound of bounced cheques made a tattletale sound
as the democrats struggled to make it
at seven a.m as they changed the headlines,
they all yelled out it's free, here take it!
the editor cried, where's the ads from inside
and the classified section was empty
when the press corps came it was b.s again
and said "fellas it's been good to know ya
when bankruptcy came, the main writers again
yelled out, damn those republican Bastards
all the while they hid, what Bill Clinton he did
as they printed out their drivel much faster
the shareholders walked in, and yelled out such a din
when told that the paper was in peril
cause they had been told that this was like gold,
twas the death of the westchester herald
does anyone know where the democrats go
when they hustled their patoots out real quickly
and the shareholders know, as their values went low
all democratic investments are sickly
they might have done good, and they might have made cash
if they'd just stuck to truthful reporting
but the big papers know, it eventually shows
when you cheat Bush of votes, by count shorting
from the press room white floors, of the fabled west wing
in the president's electoral mansion
the democrats seem, like they live in a dream,
like a lying old fisherman sportsman
how does he vote, that Bill Florio,
does he take all the drivel they send him?
Mer is a chick, and Pips, don't ya know?
so forget all the notes that they're sendin
in a musty old room where the paper was made
now as quiet as any cathedral
the church bell chimed, and it rang so many times
with the death of the westchester herald
the legend lives on from the new york post down,
as they went out they yelled, yeah, so sue me!
the newspaper wars always serve up their dead
and this one, it didn't come too early
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