When I first spotted a journal,
It was sticking out from a pile
There were rank cow flops and bits of things
There were notes and scribblings

The first flacks I met were a horse with a butt
And a guy, head-first in;
His pad was out and as he would write,
He would give the report his spin.

Newsmen's heads are anchored in a horse's rear end.
They can't pull their heads back out again.
Unrepentant; they can't remember their shame,
'Cause they don't read blogs that have challenged their claims.
Na na, na un na na na, na na na, na na...
Na na, na un na na na, na na na, na na...

Within two days, when they've had their fun
It's found their claim is all wet.
Within two weeks, when its course is run,
Then we slowly begin to forget.

The pundits get appalled that it's seldom recalled
But what reason have we to fret?

You see, newsmen's heads are anchored in a horse's rear end.
They can't pull their heads back out again.
Unrepentant; they can't remember their shame,
'Cause they don't read blogs that have challenged their claims.
Na na na, na un na na na, na na na, na na...
Na na na, na un na na na, na na na, na na...

[Guitar Instrumental]

It's a fine place for their hypocrisy,
As I think Dante would agree;
In horse apples, turds, cow flops and things
For their final reckonings.

The reporters' feet are permanently stuck in concrete
And their bodies in piles of dung.
And no one pities former newsmen elite
'Cause they're getting back what they flung.

You see, newsmen's heads are anchored in a horse's rear end.
They can't pull their heads back out again.
Unrepentant; they can't remember their shame,
'Cause they don't read blogs that have challenged their claims.
Na na na, na un na na na, na na na, na na...
Na na na, na un na na na, na na na, na na...
[etc.]