Desperation. You know, the press they can smell it.
But the way that you tell it, the lie's laid bare.
Can't you remember?
I know that you love the limelight.
But your story don't sound right.
You've lost your flair.

You've spent too much time in Frisco, girl,
Guzzling wine from Napa.
You know the Sixties hippies came and never left.
Now the sex, drugs and Rock-n-Roll
Have left you stiff and unstable.
The distant drummer hasn't told you that yet.

Iron Maiden, you know, your comrades in Congress
They have you bent over. They're drivin' you home.
And bloodsport? Lib bloodsport ... well, there's no honor 'mongst gangsters.
You're twisting in the wind, and adrift on your own.

Is it CIA or just c.y.a.?
It's hard to keep the damn story straight ...
It's like you've had some nasty drug flashbacks.
Yes, Hendrix has been dead for years,
And no, you weren't briefed that he still cuts tracks.

Madam Speaker, time to retire from the battle.
You're a worn out saddle: rode hard, hung wet.
I gave my blessing. You know, Team Change can't afford you.
My press will waterboard you
... vultures are coming for you ...
My press will waterboard you. Hoyer’s my best bet.