Thomsonreuters Are Picking On God Like Productions

Here is my Ode to ThomsonReuters

Greetings Thomsonreuters, and how do you do
I felt inspired to write a poem to you
Just found out your hitting the likes of god
And his productions, in the gonads
Or should I say in their wallet

Cos it’s about the freeflow of information
To this, other continents: Every nation
Without exeption; just how will we know
When Capitalism bites the bullet of truth
How much more will you cover up?

To save much unnecessary suffering
In the next few years; your family’s included
No ducking the shitstorm that awaits
Don’t the people deserve a heads up?
Not more cover-up’s; truth would be nice

From time to time in our lives
I suppose your official line on disclosure
Is that aliens don’t exist; lying ****’s
I saw the head of the NPA in America
Wave his alien file in the air
Like he just didn’t care, put your arms in the air

And say aaaay, I said OOOOHHHH
Aaaammmm everyday people….
Just getting a groove on cos
Everything would depress the arse off me otherwise
Being poisoned to death, dodgy vaccinations
Even dodgier world bankers
You would appear to be in their payroll W@:{+_S

But GLP have the Digital Millenium Copyright act
To give them fair use: DaTS A FAcT
So why don’t you just button it BiATcH
Take that solicitor, put a muzzle on it
Save your coin whilst you can
Cos in a couple of years hyperinflation
And you’re an accessory to it I propose

And when it all kicks off wouldn’t blame
Anybody for deciding to come for you
As an accessory to highway robbery
Add to their recent haul of chunks of BP
All the banks should have gone the way of Morgan Stanley
Suffer baby, like a spent up gambler in vegas
Instead all the banks get fat bailouts

But hell I’m telling you things you know
I checked your website out too
Intelligence, intuition and information
I’m going to vomit, show me the loo
I propose your legal department has
Only one between them: IQ
And it takes an IQ of 2 to grunt too

Either that or a gun to their heads
Let me see now which one is it?
Intuition, surely your brains alarm bells
Would be ringing like St Pauls by now?
If you had any, which I doubt
But if you did, would have to be
That old chestnut, gun to the head again
Or maybe some big piece of property?

But Information is the key to this reality
It’s on your front page, must be also
In your mission statement; **** that
I aint that keen, your mission statement lies
With your recent action against
God and his like productions
Not that I go there much, but couldn’t resist
Murdering you with rhyme
You retards haven’t a moral leg to stand on

But I bet you got big bank accounts
A gun to your heads sounds a bit much
But maybe blackmail of a different kind
Did I mention bribery; must be your key
But it isn’t mine, I shine white light
And your so dark it hurts
Well it’s hurting god’s own wallet
There is a recession on wouldn’t you know it?

But I’m telling you all this stuff
You already know, you write the news
But you must censor it too, or some
Gray suit out of some underground base
Well he can crawl back in like the rat he is
As far as I’m concerned, I only want some truth
With my cornflakes in the morning

And one thing is certain that your attacking godlike
Is not unlike your paymasters attacking this earth
And getting paid a fortune to clear it up; right now
Your wasting your time too, as attacking our creator
Is like attacking a tank with a pea shooter
You got no chance, you picked the wrong side
Never too late to change, live up to your front page
41-45, M
Jul 27, 2010