Call Out the Phoneys Video (MV)

He's got his dyed-blonde mo
And a radio show
And his cheerleaders love the banter
He boasts of five nights a week
Watching shows like some freak
Yet he's never heard the records that matter
And though the pub quiz shows
How little he really knows
He's happy to bask in the glory

The hall's booked for eight
She's in a hypnotic state
She's ready to dream up a reading
The crowd want to hear
From the ones they held dear
But her claim to be a seer's misleading
It's a matter of fact
That she's a circus act
And the only spirits present are bottled

Can I preach love and hold such bitterness inside?
Or does that make me a phoney?
And in my mind I am the Catcher in the Rye
I'm here to call out the phoneys
But am I one of them?

It's like he truly believes
When he's down on his knees
Proclaiming thine is the power and the glory
He leads a blameless life
With his self-righteous wife
But in the pub it is a different story
The language is crude
And his behaviour is lewd
As he mentally undresses the barmaid