Ezra Pound - Alf's Eleventh Bit lyrics

My great press cleaves the guts of men, My great noise drowns their cries, My sales beat all the other ten, Because I print most lies. I get the kids out on the street To sell the papers early, At one o'clock I go to lunch, Looking so big and burly. I wear a fine fur coat and gloves, And spats above my shoes, They have to do the dirty work, I do whatever I choose. They have to stand about in mud And cold fit for despair, But I have made a ruddy pile From profits on hot air. I pump the market up and down By rigging stock reports, And get my pickings on the side From dress goods ads, and sports. The King was once the biggest thing In England? I'll say YES! But knights and Lords to-day respect The power of the Press.