In a ninety-floor Manhattan address lives a watchdog called the National Press,
And around his collar's written the lines: "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 then 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 club,
Meat the press club,
Meat the press club,
Meat the press club.
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 loony 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.
Meat the press, (sick 'em Fido)
Meat the press,
Meat the press, (get 'em boy)
Meat the press,
Meat the press, (I'm only doing my job)
Meat the press, (I mean, it's not like it's a conspiracy or anything)
Meat the press, (By the way, what did you say your name was?)
Meat the press, (Your address? Can I write that down?)
Meat the press, (Do you have anything you'd like to say, off the record?)
Meat the press, (Hey, who you calling arrogant?)
