Garbage!
(The ! is part of the title!)
Copyright (c) 1969
Whitfeld Music (BMI)
All rights reserved
Bill Steele
ws21@cornell.edu
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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
As  he puts it in a can with coffee grounds  and sardine tins
Till the truck comes by on Friday and carts it all away
And a thousand trucks just like it are converging on
One With The Earth lyrics

A shiver creeps down my spineAs I wander through these hordesAnd when these callous armStreches out for me, I feel at homeYou are the beholders of silenceStill your voice of wisdom means more to meThan the words from a thousand men ever willIn a time with r
 the Bay
  Garbage, garbage, garbage, garbage
  What will we do when there's no place left
  To put all the garbage
Mr Thompson starts his caddilac and winds it up 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
While the sun licks <looks> down upon it with its ultraviolet tongues
Till it turns to smog and settles down and ends up in our lungs
  Garbage, garbage
  We're filling up the sky <air> with garbage
  Garbage, garbage
  What 
Warriors Farewell lyrics

Over grey ocean tides past shores of dreams and narrow sunsets
Above snowy rock in swift flight
Coming close to where the dead inhabit
War is nothing to run from it's in the minds and dreams of everyone
Can't you sense the smell is drawing near
And all these young m
ill we do
  When there's nothing left to breathe but garbage
Getting home and taking off his shoes he settles down with
  evening news
While the kids do homework with the TV in one ear
While Superman for thousandth<s> time
  sell talking <sexy> 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
  We're filling up our minds with garbage
  Garbage, garbage
  What will we do when there's nothing left to read
  And th
In A Philly Mood lyrics

Oh
let's make it groove
Taking it nice and smooth

Turn out the light . I can see your face
It's you and I - in the time and place
The radio playing Teddy's groove
The city nights - nothing love couldn't do
Oh
baby
it's been too long
I need to feel the same thing
Th
ere's nothing left to hear
  And there's nothing left to need
  And there's nothing left to wear
(that way it sort of rhymes....)
  <What will we do when there's nothing left to hear
  And there's nothing left to read
  And there's nothing left to wear
  And there's nothing left to need>
  And there's nothing left to talk about
  And there's nothing to walk upon
  And there's nothing left to care about
->  And nothing left to ponder on
  And <there's> nothing left to see
(reverse order here:)
  And there's nothing left to do
  And there's nothing left to be but garbage