I know they're are watching me.
They are listening through my walls.
I can just see them in their black hats and coats,
Planning my detention and torture.

I think they've smuggled listening devices
Into my cereal bowl and have camouflaged cameras
In my toilet, ready for the expected blackmail,
My private moments exposed in the morning papers.

Am I really a threat to society?
Am I really a thought-criminal?
I only think about football and babes.
I only want curry, beer and bazookas.

But, I know they're following me.
I've seen them lurking in the dark corners.
Groups of them, pointing and tutting.
Prejudging me because of my T-shirt.

They only see the outside, though. Only skin-deep.
And, it's a good job too, because otherwise
They might discover how sick I am?
And then they'll swap black coats for white.

At the height of the “Red Scare“, the Hollywood 10, a group of 10 screenwriters, producers and directors, are blacklisted by the major Hollywood studios, on this day in 1947.