Byline Browne Lyrics - Ian Dury

I'm here to find out what makes you tick 

I'm here to discover the secret you 

I intend to reveal you're crooked and sick 

And I don't give a damn if none of it's true 

'Cos I'm Byline Browne from the national press 

And that is how I earn my wages 

I bring exposure and distress 

As I spread your guts across the centre pages 

I'm here to solicit your innermost thoughts 

I'm fuelled by jealousy, venom and drink 

I poke in your dustbins and I lurk round the courts 

I puke up your portrait in bright yellow ink 

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'Cos I'm Byline Browne of the popular press 

The man who bought you babies for sale 

I'll blackmail your neighbour and look up your dress 

But come what may I'll tell my tale 

I cover each item as issues arise 

With a skein of fabric of tissue of lies 

I'll fuck up your family, your future and friends 

And I'll see you in hell before my story ends 

Photos 

I'm a reporter with senses and hunches 

Somebody's daughter's turned into a junkie 

I'm on a reporter's expenses and lunches 

And a whiskey and water and I don't give a monkey's