Supermarket Tabloid Blues
You scream for my attention in the checkout aisle
With tales of infidelity and sordid guile.
You pique my curiosity with spicy clues.
Gives me those supermarket tabloid blues.
You document the glamour of the silver screen
By trumpeting the rise of some new movie queen,
Then interview the hooker who her husband screws,
Exposing supermarket tabloid blues.
You hear a scandal splash and then you go to press
And document the details of the whole damn mess.
Your hottest stories simmer like delicious stews
To feed us supermarket tabloid blues.
You swear to any rumor's truth, however vague,
By spreading sordid gossip like bubonic plague,
Then quote the Bill of Rights if anybody sues,
Exploiting supermarket tabloid blues.
"The Pentagon communicates with UFOs."
"Archbishop blesses little boys without their clothes."
You’re churning out more headlines than my head can use.
Gives me those supermarket tabloid blues.
There's just one small confession that I have to make;
I’ve got a funny need to hear those stories break.
A guilty little pleasure that I freely choose.
Bring on those supermarket tabloid blues.
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