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 balk When I hang my 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 accepting 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 Being 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.