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domingo, 12 de dezembro de 2010

WIKILEAKS SAMBA





What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next?
Don’t stop now, we’re on the edge of our seats!
What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next?

Don’t stop now, we’re on the edge of our seats!
You have to watch what you say or your words will haunt you.
Take extra care when you speak.
One of these days you just might find your foot stuck in your cheek.
With a flabby old chap and Hitler hobnobbin’
And a head of a snake and Batman and Robin
There’s just no place to hide your disgrace
You got egg all over your face.

The walls have ears
Is your conscience clear?
If you've got nothing to hide, you've got nothing to fear
The walls have ears
and the coast isn't clear
If you've got nothing to hide, you've got nothing to fear
Our friends are thin skinned, feckless and vain,
with a crazy old man and another just strange,
don't corner merkle, she'll become tenacious,
she's risk averse and rarely creative
Some are abysmal or taking their meds
while others won't keep their promises
get frequent flyer miles of Ban Ki Moon
his biometric data, we’ll need it soon

What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next?
Our freedom of press, our freedom of speech?
What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next?
Our freedom of press? our freedom of speech?

Don’t stress, free the press X2
Let the chips fall where they may
The truth will come out, ready or not
Fess up to what you say
Blaming the mirror for what you see
diverts the responsibility
To stifle the leak is just doublespeak
If you claim the press is free.

What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next, Wikileaks?
What’s next?
Don’t stop now, we’re on the edge of our seats!
What’s next, Wikileaks?
We cannot wait to know.
The cat is out of the bag so on with show
The world’s outraged and it’s no surprise
You’ve been accused of telling no lies
Protecting secrets is the job of the state
They’ve failed their job yet they’re irate
Now there’s a witch hunt

We’ve seen this before
They need someone to blame to even the score
Blaming the postman for the letter he brings is like
Blaming the weatherman for the wind
When it stings.

Lyrics by Nick Santoro

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