We are guilty,
We are beyond hope
We beg to differ
We are a terminal case
Press darlings, press darlings, press darlings
Press darlings, press darlings
We depress the press darlings
We're on the outside
But we're not looking in
We are the Vaseline gang
We don't play your little games
Press darlings, press darlings, press darlings
Press darlings, press darlings
We depress the press darlings
And if evil be the food of genius
There aren't many demons around
If passion ends in fashion
Nick Kent is the best-dressed man in town
Are we different? No
We are exactly the same
There are no boxes for us
The ones you love to hate, so read on!
Press darlings, press darlings, press darlings
Press darlings, press darlings
We depress the press darlings
And if evil be the food of genius
There aren't many demons around
If passion ends in fashion
Bushell is the best-dressed man in town
(you can say that again, the scruffy sod!)
Press darlings, press darlings, press darlings
Press darlings, press darlings
We depress
Press darlings, press darlings, press darlings
Press darlings, press darlings
We are the press darlings
The press darlings
The press darlings
The press darlings
(and they tell fibs!)