| Mister Thompson calls the waiter, orders steak and baked potato
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| (Then) he leaves the bone and gristle and he never eats the skin
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| The busboy comes and takes it, with a cough contaminates it
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| (And he) puts it in a can with coffee grounds and sardine tins
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| And the truck comes by on Friday and carts it all away
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| A thousand trucks just like it are converging on the Bay
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| Oh, Garbage, garbage, garbage, garbage
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| We’re filling up the seas with garbage
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| What will we do when there’s no place left
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| To put all the garbage
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| Mr. Thompson starts his Cadillac and winds it down the freeway track
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| Leaving friends and neighbors in a hydrocarbon haze
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| He’s joined by lots of smaller cars all sending gases to the stars
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| There to form a seething cloud that hangs for thirty days
|
| And the sun licks down into it with an ultraviolet tongue
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| (Till it) turns to smog and then it settles in our lungs
|
| Oh, Garbage, garbage
|
| We’re filling up the sky with garbage
|
| Garbage, garbage
|
| What will we do, when there’s nothing left to breathe but garbage
|
| Getting home and taking off his shoes he settles with the evening news
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| While the kids do homework with the TV in one ear
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| While Superman for thousandth’s time sell talking dolls and conquers crime
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| (They) dutifully learn the date of birth of Paul Revere
|
| In the paper there’s a piece about the mayor’s middle name
|
| (And) he gets it done in time to watch the all-star bingo game
|
| Oh, Garbage
|
| We’re filling up our minds with garbage
|
| What will we do when there’s nothing left to read
|
| And there’s nothing left to need
|
| There’s nothing left to watch
|
| There’s nothing left to touch
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| There’s nothing left to walk upon
|
| And nothing left to ponder on
|
| Nothing left to see
|
| And nothing left to be but garbage
|
| In Mr. Thompson’s factory they’re making plastic Christmas trees
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| Complete with silver tinsel and a geodesic stand
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| The plastic’s mixed in giant vats, from some conglomeration that’s
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| Been piped from deep within the Earth, or strip-mined from the land
|
| And if you ask them questions they say «why don’t you see?
|
| It’s absolutely needed for the economy.»
|
| Oh, garbage, garbage, garbage
|
| Their stocks and their bonds all garbage
|
| What will they do when their system go to smash
|
| There’s no value to their cash
|
| There’s no money to be made
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| That there’s a world to be repaid
|
| Their kids will read in history book
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| About financiers and other crooks
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| And feudalism and slavery
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| And nukes and all their knavery
|
| To history’s dustbin they’re consigned
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| Along with many other kinds of garbage |