Mr. Reporter (version one)

Hey, Mr. Reporter,
How 'bout talking about yourself?
Do you like what you're doing,
Or is it that you can do nothing else?

Hey, Mr. Reporter,
I'll believe all that you put down.
I'll believe the sun is going up,
Even though it's going down.

Why, Mr. Reporter,
Do you like some things more than most?
I hate you, Mr. Reporter,
'Cause your self pity makes you a ghost.

You smile and then you jot down,
All the things you wanted to hear.
Then you take away such dear things,
Then you treat them with a smear.

Hey, Mr. Reporter,
How 'bout talking about yourself?
Do you like what you're doing,
Or is it that you can do nothing else?

Hey, Mr. Reporter,
Don't you twist my words around.
I'll kill you, rather than let you,
Distort my simple sound.

Did your daddy stop you playing
With your friends when you were young?
And is that why you run down
All the young folks having fun.

The reason I am morbid,
Is because I read you every day.
You contest all of the good things
Because they rub you up the wrong way.

Hey, Mr. Reporter,
How 'bout talking about yourself?
Do you like what you're doing,
Or is it that you can do nothing else?

Ha!
Hey...
Hey...