Pop orators, like petulant children, they bawl,
Sometimes their grumbling is not what you'll call G-rated.
They have nothing to say,
Yet they screech on anyway.
I do wish that all of them could be sedated.

CHORUS:
They're just a bunch of gasbags that blow
Hot air and their stacks.
But all of their mumbling is merely mindless,
Nothing more than narcissistic whining, and it shows,
Most of the time they know
Little of what they yell,
They only want to hear their words and little else.
Their utterances not real

Pop orators, like petulant children, they bawl,
Their so-called fact checking is way beyond lazy.
There's nothing in their lies
So why then do they get air time?
People listen to them, and that's really crazy.

CHORUS

Pop orators, like pustulant infections all. . .
Like an ugly untreated wound that's seeping goo. . .
Suppurating slime. . .
A smelly cheese with moldy rind.
What a waste of time.

CHORUS