The ice sheets are melting
The climate’s outa control.
Shade is at a premium.
The weather’s on a roll.
Kids in India are dying
But that’s a long way away.
And half of Canada is ashes.
I never went there anyway.
There’s a heat dome over Texas
The cowboys sweat like hogs
Yet still they drill for oil
As Houston sits in smog.
As our planet goes to shit
Who gives a flying f*ck?
Just have another San Miguel
And turn the aircon up.
Road trips now are better
The wipers are rarely on.
Windscreens stay clean and clear —
The bugs are dead and gone.
The hippies got it right
They knew it all along.
Peace and love and lots of sex,
Acid, weed and song.
Leaders don’t give a damn
Warnings they didn’t heed.
They’re in another’s pocket
Victims of corporate greed.
Searching for the cause of this
Is not exactly funny.
It all comes down to just one thing:
And that’s the love of money.
Money is an invented thing
I’m sure you will agree.
It puts a price on everything
So nothing is for free.
There are some things that should be free
I think that’s only fair.
Specifically I’m thinking of
Water, soil and air.
Yet wonga spoils us all.
It messes with our head.
There’s value for us in a tree
Only when it’s dead.
Let us in the rivers swim;
That’ll make us strong and fit.
But the water companies’ overflows
Mean we swim in shit.
What to do, my kindred soul,
With famine, fire and flood?
How might we now proceed
When land is turned to mud?
And heatwaves boil our blood?
As our planet goes to shit
Who gives a flying f*ck?
Just have another San Miguel
And turn the aircon up.
We could turn to the indigents,
The tribes that surely know
How to live in harmony
And harvest, reap and sow?
So let us to the forest go
Their wisdom us to tell.
Oh sorry, I plain forgot:
We blew them all to hell.
We can still watch a TV show
On which we feast and binge
As the sewage laps our ankles
And the door comes off its hinge.
As our planet goes to shit
Who gives a flying f*ck?
Just have another San Miguel
And turn the aircon up.
The End
