It's just like 1984... Have we no privacy no more? Can't I have a little sleep outside the pub, say Or a vomit near a subway Or use a postbox as a crapper Without some omnipresent snapper Catching me with my pants around my knees In fully searchable three hundred and sixty degrees.
I understand the neighbours might bawk When I hang my monthly sacrificial goat on my front porch I can handle their contempt, But I do not consent To my goat playing a part in your creepy global experiment
It's just like 1984... Have we no privacy no more? If I bumped into Jimmy as he leaves an adult store Carrying edible undies and a sex toy or four The chance of our interception Is a risk he's acceptin But that don't mean he wants his bag of butt-plugs up on the net.
It's just like 1984, well, Even the late Georgey Orwell Would surely think he was hearing a fiction If you tried to describe how far this shit's gone Would presume you were taking the piss Bein happy with technology like this Where you can sit n watch Jimmy on the Big Fat Quiz Whilst peering into the letterbox of that swanky flat of his.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
