[Intro — close, sultry] Come closer, darling. The truth has such expensive taste. [Verse 1] Bezos bought the paper. Murdoch owns the roar. Zuckerberg runs the ballroom— decides what reaches the floor. Ellison money buys the studio. Musk bought the public square. Nobody owns your point of view— [SMILE] just everything that gets you there. Bari sets the table, polishes the glass. Independent thought is welcome— provided it has class. Access gets a velvet rope. Dissent gets standing room. Nobody tells the flowers where to face— they simply turn the room. [Chorus] Manufactured consent— silk stockings on a fence. A little rouge on ownership, a little scent on influence. Manufactured consent— come loosen your defence. They never have to tell you what to think when they can dress up common sense. [Verse 2] Once reporters probed corruption, followed money, names & dates. Asked who power really served, who got heard & who got erased. Asked if government represented more than donors at the gate. Now opinion powders up the briefing & mistakes access for debate. Who gets into the press room? Who gets waved behind the rope? Investigators lose the budget. Bloggers get the badge & hope. Ask the hard thing, lose the invite. Praise the line, remain inside. [BRIGHTLY] Any questions? [BEAT] Only the approved ones. [Verse 3] We used to judge a country, darling, by who could print & still come home. Who could question ministers in daylight without a midnight telephone. Khashoggi entered one consulate— [STOP] & shocked the civilized room. A free press dies quite loudly when somebody kills the press. It dies much more politely when reporters learn to ask less. [Verse 4] Before WHINSEC wore its new name, the School had manuals of its own. Blackmail, prisons, threats & secrets— such well-travelled techniques, you know. The lawyers say, “It’s legal.” The agency says, “Quite right.” Then contracts take the dirty work discreetly out of sight. [SMILE] The law puts on its evening gloves. The contractor holds the knife. [Verse 5] Release the files? Of course, darling— stack them higher than the door. Redact the names, delay the answers, drown the question in the drawer. Hide it, seal it, classify it— then release it by the ton. Nothing buries one good question like a million documents. [Verse 6] The truth wears pearls. The lie wears better shoes. The sponsor owns the lighting— guess who photographs as news. [BRIGHTLY] Editorial independence! [BEAT] How adorable. The billionaire buys the masthead, then praises its courageous tone. The platform tilts the ballroom & swears you danced there on your own. [Verse 7 — algorithm drum] The algorithm drum knows what you like. It also knows your spite. Tap-tap-tap the little grievance— soon the whole room marches right. Stroke the fear. Feed the fury. Give resentment something sweet. Make the prejudice feel personal— then put a bass drum underneath. [Chorus] Manufactured consent— a beautifully tailored fence. No censor in the newsroom, just incentives making sense. Manufactured consent— the leash is feather-light. You may say anything you please— if someone wealthy owns the night. [Verse 8 — quicker] Ratings. Access. Advertising. Yield. A little fact gets powdered. A little truth concealed. Shareholder value takes the solo. Public interest misses cue. The watchdog gets a cocktail— [SMILE] & forgets what dogs should do. They needn’t muzzle every voice. Darling, that looks crude. Buy the microphone. Own the room. Then call exclusion “attitude.” Make the loudest silence look like choice. Make ownership disappear. And when the audience asks who wrote the show— [BRIGHTLY] “You did, my dear.” [Bridge — slow, sultry] Once the press undressed the powerful. Now power owns the dress. A little cleavage in the headline, while truth is left undressed. The fourth estate still wears its pearls. Its manners are impeccable. It simply learned which hands may roam— [PAUSE] while remaining respectable. [Final Chorus] Manufactured consent— come raise the house champagne. They own the stage, they own the feed, then interview themselves again. Manufactured consent— no need to burn the press. [LEAN IN] Buy enough of it, darling— & watch how willingly it undresses. [Outro — close, dry] A free press? Of course. [SMILE] Terms & conditions apply. [news broadcast voice] Good night, & good luck!
