This is the age of the porky;

This is the age of the lie.

Big men who wield power

No longer even try

To utter one word

Which might just be true.

They know they don’t need to;

They’re laughing at you.

 

They’re laughing at you

Because you lap it up,

As if you read tea leaves

In their plastic cup.

They make up the numbers,

They make up the quotes,

They’re act like musicians

Who won’t play the notes.

 

But none of this matters

If black becomes white,

And checking the facts

Is seen to be spite.

How many fingers

Do I hold up, please?

Give me the right answer,

Or get down on your knees.