I'm bowtied, I look like such a dink.
I'm blow-dried, I shout but rarely think.
I blundered like my colleagues, and now our slips are pink.
Woe, woe, woe.

On "Crossfire," they said, "Goodbye to you."
My boss fired me�Jim, Bob, and Paul too.
We thundered, and Stewart said we were simply bags for douche.

CHORUS:
Those clowns were putting us on,
Their shrieks sounded like a smoke alarm.
Their talk wasn't deep; they stifled their brain.
In fact, they were creeps, causing aural pain.
But now they have been given the boot;
We think nobody will mind.

I'm "Crossfire"d, yet I'm not too upset.
I'll be hired by MSNBC or some lame net.
I'm Barbara Walters, really,
And Geraldo gets me wet.