I stand there by the paper stand
surveying broadsheets pale and wan
Their lifeless pages filled with text,
no tits in sight and no SMS
Responses to today's conundrum,
is it right for J-Lo to insure her bum-bum?
Now I know that I don't need to hear
how much this girl values her rear
Or what she paid or what she fears
could leave her arseless, in arrears
Tooshless, broke and destitute,
unable maybe to even poop
I know this is news that I don't need to know
But those blasted red-tops tempt me so
Comics by the shameless intended for the slow
With their clanging headlines and duff info

Some twins were raped, left for dead in a park
But we've engineered mice that glow in the dark!
Run the cat that eats ketchup, ask do girls really fart?
Non-existant ballistics no longer a part
of this ongoing sitcom they've based in Iraq
Support our boys, they order, they bark
But why are they out there?
Its best not to ask...

This is my tabloid purgatory
Schoolyard gossip, best if gory
I've tried and tried to ignore or hide
Escape, avoid their half-truths, lies
This fetid brew, this putrid mush
But dammit kylie's arse looks lush

Peddle some scandal the lawyers can handle
Begin each line with allegedly
Cos libel costs them far too much
When it involves a celebrity
And if the readership's dipping give Doherty a kicking
Find a video of Winehouse on crack
Then give Macca a pat on his be-knighted back
for the songs he wrote when he was smashed

This hypocritical irony is lost on them
Or so it seems, reclassify ganja they shout, they scream
But what have they got on their i-pods? Cream!
Or Dylan or Hendrix, The Who or The Stones
All out of their heads when they wrote those songs
And what of the albums, the classics to come
What will be playing when we're all long gone?

Arctic monkeys I'd imagine not averse to a toke
Oasis definitely maybe every man, to a bloke
Radiohead? Please is that meant to be a joke?
someone here can't see the flame for the smoke

This is our tabloid purgatory
schoolyard gossip, best if gory
The Sun, The Star, The Mirror and The Mail
All warble on at the same sorry tales
And pitiful, pointless petty crusades
A dead princess being the holy grail
Ten long years they've kept that up
with conspiracies and raking muck
just let it lie you grabbing fucks
you heartless hateful, hacking runts

Ten million spent on an inquest charade
True culprits hidden behind a government facade
A wasteful whitewash, a dear veneer
But the tabloids won't sigh or shed a tear
It'll line their pockets for another ten years

This is our tabloid purgatory
Soft porn, scorn and dark scare stories
Figments for indignant imaginations
Statistics applied without foundation
Propaganda, misinformation
Nosebag on the snout of a blinkered nation.