The news ain’t free, it’s a well-paid show,
A bulletin board for the ones who know—
The ruling class behind the scenes,
Pulling all the puppet strings.
They choose the stories you’re allowed to see,
Filter truth through a company’s need.
Pre-Chorus
If the power-holders say “don’t tell,”
Then silence rings like a warning bell.
Chorus
’Cause the parent corp’s the one in charge,
They're calling shots from towers large.
If they don’t want you in the loop,
It disappears—like poof!—no scoop.
And if it makes the evening news,
It’s tilted just to fit their views—
Spun so clean, so neat, so tight,
Then never followed up on sight.
Verse 2
Editors dance to the money drum,
Paid to pick what the headlines become.
Stories vanish on command,
Truth gets shifted grain by grain of sand.
You think you’re hearing what’s real and raw,
But it’s just what the bosses saw.
Bridge
Whispers turn to static,
Silence automatic—
When the truth gets problematic,
They just fade it to black.
Final Chorus
Yeah, the parent corp’s the power seat,
Every channel, every beat.
If they don’t want it in your mind,
It’s cut, rewritten, redesigned.
And what you hear, what you believe,
Is only what they let you see—
A world built carefully,
By those who hold the keys.