(Verse 1) Jackson took a flight, now he’s deep in the sand, Shaking hands with the Houthis, got a mic in his hand. How’d he get in? Man, that’s hard to say, When the U.S. is bombing them every day. (Pre-Chorus) They call it journalism, but it don’t add up, No arrest, no trouble—man, that’s kinda sus. Either he’s slick, or he’s got some strings, Who’s backing this trip? Who’s funding these things? (Chorus) Is it clout? Is it cash? Is it CIA? How’s he rolling through Yemen like it’s a vacay? Terrorist zone, yet he’s out here free— Something ain’t right, don’t you agree? (Verse 2) Most reporters vanish or get locked away, But Hinkle’s on stage like it’s press day. Talking ‘bout justice, waving that flag, While the drones overhead keep dropping the bags. (Bridge) Maybe he’s a puppet, maybe just bold, Maybe he’s playing the game that he’s told. Or maybe he’s lost in his own little script, Just another name on the grifter list. (Chorus - Repeat) Is it clout? Is it cash? Is it CIA? How’s he rolling through Yemen like it’s a vacay? Terrorist zone, yet he’s out here free— Something ain’t right, don’t you agree? (Outro) If he comes back clean, no trouble at all, Might just be the biggest tell of ‘em all. So watch what they say, and watch what they hide, ‘Cause the truth’s in the shadows, not the headlines
