There's a cancer in the city of the voluntary kind.
It consumes all the space between ground painted lines.
It feeds upon the ego, shits pseudo peace of mind.
The biggest tumour is the four-wheel drive.
Can you find a more greedy way to park that thing?
Lay the world out in concrete and a building to park it in.
Tear away the old streets with no place in the modern.
Sell a conquest based on comfort, what you buy is Autogedon.
Send the kids out to play, but say watch out for the road.
Cos there's always a story about a kids whose been bowled.
It's the place where you live but
watch for those driving home.
Take the scenic route through paradise with destruction in tow.
Set a course for the Middle East; get the army to get the oil,
Cos those brutes don't run on love, but at the cost of some great spoil.
Structures to be torn apart, to get that pole down past the soil,
The bounty cums thick and black to feed the cancer of the spoilt.