So. Who made you Lord of this manor that your tables and chairs
be dumped at the end of my road ?
That every mattress you find may be handed down ,
From your lorry , car , van ,
and dumped at the end of my street .
Who made you king of your hill ,
So to trash my neighbor hood with tv s. no charity wants ,
With sacks of books and little girls toys.
Left out for cats and dogs . .

What makes you think for a while,
All that money to the council will go ,
To pick up your sofas and boxes down the end of my road .
Please don't leave your sofas
It's not hard to understand,
It's selfish , cruel , and heartless ,
a blight on this once great land ,
With tables books and chairs .


You gods of your own small world ,
Who trash and burn how you please ,
Like nothing can ever touch you ,
You damage make waste our land,
When once was neat and tidy ,
I was proud to call this home ,
And Charity's pick up the tab .
What a selfish thing to do .

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