[Intro]
(Shhh)
People used to burn pages, show their inner outrages
These days, the gauge for rage is who gets flamed on comments pages
No claim is too outrageous for these constant news updaters
Lines refined to save time, less complicated to sedate us (Shhh, hang on, I'll go again, I'll go again, hang on, go now)
We ingest five lines or less stories through our subconsciousness
As times go by, the Internet will kill the printed press
Where's the scroll bar on these ink-drenched pages? I ain't turning this
Don’t believe the hype machine, death of the Journalist

[Hook]
Don't believe the hype machine, death of the Journalist
Don't believe the hype machine, don't believe the hype machine
(We provide survival instruments)
Don't believe the hype machine, death of the Journalist
(To help you overcome any fear of the future...)
Don't believe the- don't believe the- don't believe the- don't believe the

[Verse 1]
Good Friday, April 18th, 1930
BBC radio news showed a rare maturity
The news reporter said something that these days they wouldn't say
"Good evening. There is no news today."
They didn’t feel the need to fill with leads on non-news stories
All picked apart and ripped, painting fake failures or glories
Making mole hills into mountains, being exaggeratory
Financial backers in their ears feeding different allegories
Let's beguile this sickly horse-whispered media
Less reliable sources than Wikipedia
Journalism is dead, rest in pieces of trivia
The blogger is king, the gossip column is leading ya
As the blogger becomes the journalist, the art form dies
They don't have the sources anymore they just have Google finds
Referencing other websites as if they're well-sourced scriptures
Focused on getting their hits up, not winning Pulitzers
Their journalism is lazy in the need to be first
I do more research than some of them when penning a verse
And you know how we are, we just believe it's the truth
We just accept it as news instead of asking for proof
But in a way, the Internet makes journalism redundant
Freedom of information despite the attempts of some governments
Man tweets while WikiLeaks's spilling the truth of the troublesome
But truths become perspectives as soon as man discovers 'em
[Hook]
Don't believe the hype machine, death of the Journalist
Don't believe the hype machine, don't believe the hype machine
(We provide survival instruments)
Don't believe the hype machine, death of the Journalist
(To help you overcome any fear of the future...)
Don't believe the- don't believe the- don't believe the- don't believe the

[Verse 2]
And it ain't just the news reporters, it's the musos too
If you got a music blog, then son, I'm probably talking to you
Don't skim intros, listen to each track through
And maybe running a spell check before you post a review
They drop a million band names to get the Google hits
Remember, "You heard it here first" and it was in bold italics
Throw enough shit at the wall and some of it will stick
But make no mistake, your wall's still covered in shit
There's obtrusive new remits on the promotion slog
We need exclusive new remixes to service the blogs
Half of these online networks are flattery-operated
Hand feed them, let 'em think it was internally propagated
Your lines are recycled, you have no identity
Your words ain't gifted when they're lifted from my fucking press release
Your opinions next to nothing, that's all you’ll amount to
You're so vain you probably don't know this song is about you
The problem here is, I have a new album to sell
And I've probably burnt some bridges in the web wide world
Can I rebuild them? It's too far a distance to tell
And I ain't Isambard Kingdom Brunel
(Haha, see now, I'm gonna have loads of people going like, "Ah, ah, he referenced Isambard Kingdom Brunel, th-tha-that ain't pompous, high-brow as fuck..." If you're thinking that, then fuck you, haha, the, er, the Clifton suspension bridges are fucking wicked, stop being a dickhead, hahaha.)

[Hook]
Don't believe the hype machine, death of the Journalist
Don't believe the hype machine, don't believe the hype machine
Don't believe the hype machine, death of the Journalist
Don't believe the- don't believe the- don't believe the- don't believe the

(I am a journalist, I am a journalist, ow!)