The tabloids would never say, anything that's true.
Their truths are like winters in July, there are few.
While the stars get trashed, the lies they will
have flashed. No one knows, their untruthfulness grows.

Wait a sec, what'd the news say?
Who could believe a thing that they write?
When they change their minds, with every new day,
None of it looks right.

When I read the weather, nothing fits.
The air is cold, but the paper says "Summer's Hit"
They just can't be trained, to predict when it will rain,
or when it will shine. All the time.

Wait a sec, what'd the news say?
Who could believe a thing that they write?
When they change their minds, with every new day,
None of it looks right.

The comics aren't that funny, anymore.
I'd find more comedy, and humor, at a mourge.
But when the Sunday paper arrives, the
paper's as sharp as knifes. The comics make
sense. And I've laughed since.

Wait a sec, what'd the news say?
Who could believe a thing that they write?
When they change their minds, with every new day,
None of it looks right.

Wait a sec, what'd the news say?
Who could believe a thing that they write?
When they change their minds, with every new day,
None of it looks right.