T.C. Folkpunk: Noises

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A clean page before me, like a child's mind,
So many ways to fill up the space,
I've got my diploma, got my degree,
Sharpen my hatchet, let's see you match it
I'll give you a place to bury your face,
Read what I've written, now you've been smitten,
I am no hack, but I'll stretch the facts,
To fill out the dailies, it's never failed me,

A clean page before me, like a toy truck,
Fill it with candy, fill it with sand, we
Know how to sell you what you want to hear,
Take a subscription to a media tradition,
Here at the trough, we try to come off,
Politically correct, well, we all know that sex sells,
Call me some time, if you know a crime,
You can have your fame, as a source unnamed,

A clean page before me, I'm pleading the first,
License to swill, to scoop and to spill,
My mind is made up, uncluttered by truth,
Dishonest depiction of my next victim,
A blow I could smote, misprinting a quote,
I can repaint you, tarnish and taint you,
To contemplate less, I'd have to confess,
I wouldn't try it, 'cause no one would buy it.

(words & music by Timothy Cameron)