Press darlings

We are guilty
We are beyond hope
We beg to differ
We are a terminal case

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

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

And if evil be the food of genius
There aren't many demons around
If passion end in fashion
Bushell is the best dressed man in town

(And they tell fibs)