He lays a sheet if white paper 
On a gravy stained table 
He wipes the palms of his hands on his jeans. 
He turns "Imagine" up loud 
He knows that face and that cloud 
And he don't stop counting 
While he's spilling the beans. 
Cos now he's going to tell us all 
The truth about John 
Tho' he needs a little help 
To speed up the prose. 
He was taken on trust 
But that wasn't enough 
You lose some friends this way 
But that's how it goes. 

Here she comes to trail the cameras 
In her wake, and sable 
She wears the scent that only comes with success. 
She says it was love 
But she wasn't above 
Selling her secrets 
To the national press. 

And now she's going to tell us all 
The truth about John 
Tho' she needs a little help 
To speed up the prose. 
He counted on you 
And who cares if it's true? 
You're as bad as the man 
Who landed the blows. 

And they're all going to tell us now 
The truth about John 
Again and again on the interview shows. 
And if the truth isn't nice 
Well that just adds to the price 
Oh, make sure those wounds never close. 

Get your cut, you cut-price writer 
Get your cut in this cut-throat game 
The more the cut, the more he grab, yeah 
He's just a someone out to stab you.