You know the fellow is a dud,
And so do I, so throw some mud,
And if that doesn’t do the trick,
Throw more until you make it stick.
It’s no use arguing because
You know he’ll only make you cross,
His answers to your questions show
He’s slipp’ry as they come and go,
The public’s also well aware
Of how this knight so debonair
With all the parries to your probes
Is wolf dressed up in sheepskin robes.
So smear him well, and good, and thick,
Throw mud until you make it stick.
This technique works extremely well,
You give the little bastard hell,
Make innuendoes that he’s queer,
And smile a disbelieving sneer
If he should say his lady wife’s
The only woman in his life.
Dig up some dirt from long ago,
Something irrelevant, but lo!
There’s no such thing, you’ll loudly cry
When someone’s in the public eye.
Like all good journalistic hacks,
You’ll make an issue out of tax,
Has he been late with his returns?
That makes for interesting yarns,
And yarns, though microscopic thin
A web of steel can swiftly spin
To trap the most elusive fly;
It only takes one little lie,
And if he doesn’t trip, but scud
Across all this, then throw more mud.
Throw more and more and more and more,
Throw mud and shit and filth galore,
There’s only one of him, but we
Are many, powerful and free,
Free as a bird of air, the press,
To lie and smear without finesse,
Or with the greatest subtlety
To slate the bastard on TV;
And if he still looks span and spick,
Throw more mud: some will surely stick.
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