Pete Seeger - Garbage
Album:
Circles & Seasons, 1979
Garbage words and music by Bill Steele
(1969) This song has been an underground hit for a decade The last verse was written by a young man who wishes to remain anonymous and by myself
Pete Seeger
Mister Thompson calls the waiter, orders steak and baked potato
Then he leaves the bone and gristle and he never eats the skins
The busboy comes and takes it, with a cough contaminates it
And puts it in a can with coffee grinds and sardine tins
The truck comes by on Friday and carts it all away
And a thousand trucks just like it are converging on the Bay
Oh, Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
We're filling up the sea with garbage
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
What will we do when there's no place left to put all the garbage?
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! 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 they 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 settles down and ends up in our lungs
Oh, Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
We're filling up the sky with garbage
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
What will we do when there's nothing left to breathe but garbage
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
Getting home and taking off his shoes he settles down with the evening news
While the kids do homework with the TV in one ear
While Superman for the thousandth time sells talking dolls and conquers crime
Dutifully they 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! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
We're filling up our minds with garbage
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! 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 and there's nothing left to touch
There's nothing left to walk upon and there's nothing left to talk upon
And nothing left to see and there's nothing left to be - but garbage
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
In Mister Thompson's factory, they're making plastic Christmas trees
Complete with silver tinsel and a geodesic stand
The plastic's mixed in giant vats from some conglomeration
That's 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! Garbage!
There stocks and their bonds - all garbage!
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
What will they do when their system goes to smash
There's no value to their cash
There's no money to be made
But there's a world to be repaid
Their kids will read in history books
About financiers and other crooks
And feudalism and slavery
And nukes and all their knavery
To history's dustbin they're consigned
Along with many other kinds of garbage
