To the tune of "reviewing the situation" from Oliver (Tune, and accompaniment, here) (or you could just trust me that it scans perfectly), the conspiracy theorist's soliloquy..
****
A man’s got a brain, hasn’t he?
One he can strain—hasn’t he?
And though I’d be the first one to say that I’m no Ph. D.,
I’m finding it hard to accept what The Man’s telling me….
I’m reviewing the situation:
Could the government be telling us the truth?
No explosives? No detonation?
Better try to turn meself into a sleuth!
And a sleuth would sift through all the facts
Decide which ones to call the facts
And thoroughly review the facts,
Distort and misconstrue the facts,
And suddenly see why the facts
Will force me to deny the facts…
I think I’d better think it out again!
A fact, you can fudge, anyway;
I’d just hold a grudge, anyway.
Left without a theory to explain how the towers fell
So how to make people attend to the stories I tell?
I’m reviewing the situation:
I must quickly make up everything I know:
Dummy aircraft—no conflagration—
Just the CIA producing quite a show!
And though it is against all odds
I’ll claim the airplanes carried pods
The people—sacrificial lambs—
Were really only holograms;
They vanished into thin, thin air—
In fact, they were not ever there!...
I think I’d better think it out again.
So where did they go? Somebody?
Did any come home? Nobody…
All their families and sweethearts are telling the worst sort of lies!
Pay attention to me, and ignore all the tears in their eyes…
I’m reviewing the situation,
From the basement room that I still rent from Mom:
I’ve an active imagination—
When I close my eyes, I still can see the bomb!
I wonder who will take the blame
If someone should believe my claim,
Denies that I’m delusional,
Says everything’s illusional?
What lives might now be thrown apart--
I’m bigger, now, than Bonaparte!...
I think I’d better think it out again.
What happens when I’m seventy?
Must come a time, seventy.
When you’re old, and it’s cold, and your actions have made you a name
The one consolation—you’ve innocent victims to blame…
I’m reviewing the situation:
I’m a [rule 8] and a [rule 8] I’ll remain.
You will notice, with frustration,
There’s no evidence I’ve ever used my brain!
I won’t let nobody think for me
Or click to Gravy’s link for me
The evidence is not for me;
The truth is far too hot for me--
Don’t want to have to use my brain
The truth I will not entertain…
This rotten theory stinks to hell
But I have grown to love the smell…
I think I’d better think it out again!
****
A man’s got a brain, hasn’t he?
One he can strain—hasn’t he?
And though I’d be the first one to say that I’m no Ph. D.,
I’m finding it hard to accept what The Man’s telling me….
I’m reviewing the situation:
Could the government be telling us the truth?
No explosives? No detonation?
Better try to turn meself into a sleuth!
And a sleuth would sift through all the facts
Decide which ones to call the facts
And thoroughly review the facts,
Distort and misconstrue the facts,
And suddenly see why the facts
Will force me to deny the facts…
I think I’d better think it out again!
A fact, you can fudge, anyway;
I’d just hold a grudge, anyway.
Left without a theory to explain how the towers fell
So how to make people attend to the stories I tell?
I’m reviewing the situation:
I must quickly make up everything I know:
Dummy aircraft—no conflagration—
Just the CIA producing quite a show!
And though it is against all odds
I’ll claim the airplanes carried pods
The people—sacrificial lambs—
Were really only holograms;
They vanished into thin, thin air—
In fact, they were not ever there!...
I think I’d better think it out again.
So where did they go? Somebody?
Did any come home? Nobody…
All their families and sweethearts are telling the worst sort of lies!
Pay attention to me, and ignore all the tears in their eyes…
I’m reviewing the situation,
From the basement room that I still rent from Mom:
I’ve an active imagination—
When I close my eyes, I still can see the bomb!
I wonder who will take the blame
If someone should believe my claim,
Denies that I’m delusional,
Says everything’s illusional?
What lives might now be thrown apart--
I’m bigger, now, than Bonaparte!...
I think I’d better think it out again.
What happens when I’m seventy?
Must come a time, seventy.
When you’re old, and it’s cold, and your actions have made you a name
The one consolation—you’ve innocent victims to blame…
I’m reviewing the situation:
I’m a [rule 8] and a [rule 8] I’ll remain.
You will notice, with frustration,
There’s no evidence I’ve ever used my brain!
I won’t let nobody think for me
Or click to Gravy’s link for me
The evidence is not for me;
The truth is far too hot for me--
Don’t want to have to use my brain
The truth I will not entertain…
This rotten theory stinks to hell
But I have grown to love the smell…
I think I’d better think it out again!
