Here are the lyrics from a song by The Police, as managed by the IRS (Miles Copeland III) alongside the FBI booking agency (Ian Copeland), and as played by Stewart Copeland — the third son of a CIA founding member.
Don’t think me unkind
Words are hard to find
They’re only checks I’ve left unsigned
From banks of chaos in my mindDe do do do, de da da da
Is all I want to say to you
De do do do, de da da da
Their innocence will pull me through
De do do do, de da da da
Is all I want to say to you
De do do do, de da da da
They’re meaningless and all that’s truePoets, priests, and politicians
Have words to thank for their positions
Words that scream for your submission
And no one’s jamming their transmission
At the peak of the band success in 1986, the three brothers’ father gave this interview.
It’s not unethical to give the press false information. We do have a kind of adversary relationship with the press. There’s nothing we should try to do to shut them up, but it is absolutely permissible to tell the press whatever is in the interests of the American people to have the press know or think.
…the CIA isn’t overthrowing enough anti-American governments or assassinating enough anti-American leaders, but I guess I’m getting old.
[…]
With modern communications being what they are, we’re supposed to be the best informed people in history, but we’re not. We’re the most informed, which is hardly the same thing.
The man who helped develop and apply the Allied disinformation tactics of WWII and called himself a terrorist ended the interview by unironically suggesting “you can make up your own mind”.
Earlier in a 1974 interview (PDF), a year before his three sons conspired to run The Police and dominate pop music charts, he had said something similar.
First of all, [in terms of the CIA toppling foreign governments by using] dirty tricks, I don’t think [we are doing it] nearly enough under the present circumstances, given the kind of world we didn’t create, we just happen to be living in.
Just another industrial ugly morning, the factory belches filth into the sky, he walks unhindered through the picket lines today, and doesn’t think to wonder why…