Lyrics:
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Mister Thompson calls the waiter, orders steak and baked potato
Then he leaves the bone and gristle and he never eats the skin.
The busboy comes and takes it, with a cough contaminates it
And he puts it in a can with coffee grounds and sardine tins
And the truck comes by on Friday and carts it all away
And a thousand trucks just like it are converging on the Bay.
Garbage, garbage, garbage, garbage,
Garbage,
We're filling up the seas with garbage,
Garbage,
What will we do when there's no place left
To put all the garbage
Mr. Thompson starts his Cadillac and winds it down the freeway track,
Leaving friends and neighbors in a hydrocarbon haze.
He's joined by lots of smaller cars all sending gases to the stars,
There to form a seething cloud that hangs for thirty days
And the sun licks down into it with an ultraviolet tongue
Till it turns to smog and then it settles in our lungs
Garbage, garbage, garbage, 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
While the kids do homework with the TV in one ear.
While Superman for thousandth's time sell talking dolls and conquers crime
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.
Garbage, garbage, garbage, garbage,
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,
There's nothing left to walk upon
And nothing left to ponder on,
Nothing left to see
And nothing left to be but garbage.
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