[Intro]
And this is Steve Wright, we hope that those that lost relatives in this terrible disaster may be able to have a better life as a result of this great record
This great record
This great record
[Verse]
Watchers pray in times of trouble
Restless by the harbor wall
Waiting for the stormy winds to fall
With microphone and TV camera
Money and tears and a song to sing
This is where the buy and sell begins
For media and for industry
Consumers of the world agree
Nothing sells like disaster, let it be
This manufactured sympathy, drowing in hypocrisy
Smiles to clinch the deals to boost the sales
All the owners of the printing presses
And postars crying phony tears
Nothing bleeds like the hearts of the millionaires
For the charts and the state machine
Consumers of the world agree
Nothing sells like disaster, let it be
Greed and lies and economics
A captains' crew to make the rules
And a band to play the waltz on this ship of fools
Media sales
Media sales
For profit, stars, and company
Consumers of the world agree
Nothing sells like disaster, let it be
Nothing sells like disaster, let it be
What would be better than a real-life disaster, with all the Hollywood-style news coverage and on-the-spot interviews with survivors as they discover the loss of their loved ones? âQuick boys! Weâve got some tears over here! Come on, weâve got someone actually breaking down! Get that spotlight over here, quick! Oh, come on, quick, theyâve started crying!â Naked emotion at the mercy of the television cameras, and there we have it - the story that gripped the nation. Twentieth Century Fox was in. âThe Herald of Free Enterpriseâ - was this the name of the ship, or The Sun newspaper?
Meanwhile, back at Wapping, what do deaths make? Deaths make paper sales! And so The Sun takes it one step further: "Youâve seen the film, youâve read the paper, now buy the soundtrack!" The Sun says, âThe galaxy of stars on Let It Be all performed free - no one anywhere will make any profits.â Like fuck. Donât think that The Sun makes nothing from blatant exploitation of misfortune of others. Donât think that The Sun gets nothing from having itâs name plastered all over the pop charts, and all over the nationâs consciousness. The Sun says, âGo out and buy our disc today, and help wipe away the tears.â And The Sun sheds it crooked old tears, and the nation is brought together by the lowest common denominator for the highest possible sales potential
Five years ago, another ship sank; The Sun had a lot to say about that as well. That time, however, it used a different approach: "Gotcha! Our lads sink gunboat! The Navy had the Argies on their knees last night. The Belgrano and itâs crew neednât worry about the war for some time now.â When is a dead body a saleable, compassionate product, and when is it a saleable, patriotic product? The Sun, with all its hypocrisy and obscenity, have no problem making the distinction because, quite frankly, itâs full of shit
âBut donât just buy one copy of the record, but another for you family and a third for all your friends! And itâs a great record, youâll wanna play it again and again, and again, and again, and again.â And again, Rupert Murdoch is laughing all the way to the bank; and The Sun continues to spread itâs own brand of mass-manufactured Thatcher fascism. The Sun know how to capitalise on a crisis - what better way to show their concern? Their concern over the fact that many of the dead were also victims of The Sunâs one pound cross-channel voucher scheme
And what better way for pop stars like Boy George, like Paul McCartney (past victims of The Sunâs front pages) to grovel back into favour and pick up a bit of P.R. work for their own careers and their record companies. And every past pop-idol-turned-pantomime-cabaret-artist crawls out of the woodwork and on to the bandwagon. And even so-called âworking-class heroesâ like Garry Bushell and Jimmy Pursey get the chance to scab - because they are scabs. All scabs together like Bushell and the rest of the journalists and printers and electricians and drivers who sell their dignity for a bribe and a no-strike agreement during the year-long printworkers dispute
And the scabs sang Let It Be the day Rupert Murdoch throw 5,000 people on the scrap heap. And the scabs sang Let It Be as they crossed the picket line to work behind barbed wire and surveillance cameras of Fortress Wapping. And the scabs sang Let It Be as the riot cops beat the shit out of the people on the Saturday night outside Wapping. And, all the while, pop-scab McCartney sings Let It Be as EMI make the surveillance equipment for the cops, and the weapon systems for the next Falklands War. And the scabs sang Let It Be as the union officials called off the strike, the picket, and the boycott of news internationally. And all the scabs together sing a big, rousing chorus of Let It Be to their bossâs every whim, as they side with government and declaring war on the people - the people who want something more from life than nice wallpaper, crap newspaper, and colour T.V. And the scabs sing the bossâs song as they do the bossâs dirty work, as The Sun arrives every new day. And The Sun says, âGo out any buy our disk, and Let It Be a hit!â And The Sun says, âTurn your tears into pounds.â And The Sun says lots of other things, and itâs all shit: reactionary, capitalist, hypocritical shit
And make no mistake, when Bushell, and Murdoch, and McCartney, and the rest of the scabs start to drown in their own shit, we wonât be starting a disaster fund to bail them out. Weâll watch them choke, and splatter, and weâll all sing Let It Be