Someone’s hiding in the bushes with a telephoto lens
While their editor assures them the means justifies the ends
We only hunt celebrities, it’s just a bit of fun
But scousers never buy The Sun
The parents of the missing girl cling desperately to hope
While a copper take improper payments in a thick brown envelope
And no-one in the newsroom asks where’s this headline from?
But scousers never buy The Sun
Tabloids make their money betting bullshit baffles brains
And they cynically hold up their hands if anyone complains
And they say “Look, all we’re doing is giving people what they want”
Well they’re crying out for justice, people crying out for justice
The man they call the Digger casts a proprietary eye
Over what happens in the gutter and what goes on in the sky
And he claims he’s fit and proper and the watchdog sings his song
But scousers never buy The Sun
International executives hang their heads in shame
And tell us with their hand on heart that the paperboy’s to blame
But you who love that kiss and tell, you must share the guilt as well
But scousers never buy The Sun
Tabloids making millions betting bullshit baffles brains
And they cynically hold up their hands if anyone complains
And they say “Look, all we’re doing is giving people what they want”
Well they’re crying out for justice, people crying out for justice
In the corridors of power, they all sit down to sup
With the Devil and his minions, as they ask for his opinions
And the politicians wring their hands and cry ‘what’s to be done?’
And scousers never buy The Sun
No-one comes out good from this, when all is said and done
But scousers never buy The Sun