Read All Abaht It!

Thereís a gravy train rolling; quick, jump on the pillion,
Do something outrageous, and make you a million.

We live in a world where the dollar is king,
Its power makes people laugh, cry, jump and sing,
Thatís no new phenomenon, even cave men
Had prostitutes, gambling and booze way back then,
For Mammon and power, indulgence and greed
Have always been civilised manís basic need,
Even so, it is only of late this excess
Has been fuelled by the whims of the popular press.

Itís not easy pinpointing when was the first
Time the public at large with this monster was cursed,
Perhaps ítwas when Ronnie Biggs hopped it from gaol
And his charming wife Charmian put up for sale
Her story, it might have been long before that,
For thereís always been money where muck is begat,
Thereís many a man slit his own motherís throat,
Or would, if he thought it would make him a groat;
Even so, the tabloids earn our firmest rebuke,
Their disgusting exclusives make decent folk puke.

She claims sheís the child of an African prince,
But she married a man who she hasnít seen since
She had her tale ghosted, and writ in the papers,
Now millions have read her imagínary capers.
Thereís a gravy train rolling, quick, jump on the pillion,
Do something outrageous, and make you a million.

Thereís a man in New York went and shot down four muggers,
(Not that I have ought but disdain for the buggers),
He doesnít deserve to be sent to The Chair,
And he wonít, but he will be a mill-i-on-aire
When his life storyís serialised in the Times,
(Of New York) or is filmed or recorded in rhymes;
I hope he does well, (so do others), but thereís
Something wrong when a gunmanís rewarded with shares.
God bless Mr Goetz being cool and courageous
And bless him twice over for being outrageous.

You find that offensive? Then look how they handle
The surrogate mother and rent-a-womb scandal,
Look too at the ways certain people in gaol
Have made profits selling the papers their tale;
Son of Sam David Berkowitz killer supreme
Is a man of some substance now, though it would seem
He will not get the chance (doing life) to go spending
His money; I guess thatís a half happy ending.
But it isnít just murderers striking it rich,
Itís every crook, poseur and kiss-and-tell bitch.

Itís no use you standing there angry and bitter,
Pretending to be such a self-righteous critter,
If people get paid for producing such hash
Itís high time the two of us made some real cash.
I know what youíre thinking: itís wrong and itís sleazy,
But face it, old son, itís so childishly easy,
The press rules (and Mammon), mere talk wonít defeat íem,
We may as well join íem, thereís no way weíll beat íem;
Weíll do some research and provided itís gory
Or filthy, weíll go flog The People our story.

Thereís a gravy train rolling, quick, jump on the pillion,
Letís both be outrageous, and make us a million!

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