In a ninety-floor Manhattan address
Lives a watchdog called the National Press
And around the 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


Meet The Press

When the ratings point the camera's eye

They can state the facts while telling a lie
And the 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

Meet The Press


When the Godless chair the judgement 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