You
complain about kids and a stunted life,
Or
being worked to the bone
Underpaid
for your strife,
The
horror of being a teenager
Or
being a trophy wife
A
footy player who's past his prime,
An
actor who can't turn on a dime.
We
are all popping Prozac
Like
there is no tomorrow
And
it calms you down;
There
is no such thing as sorrow.
The
prescribed dose per day,
Washed
down with water'
Then
pissed away
Into
sewerage treatment
That
doesn't filter down
To
microns per million,
Then
spewed out into the ocean,
Like
a waste managers dream.
When
the toxicology reports come back
They
say: my bad...
Fish
and shrimp are being medicated
For
conditions they didn't know they had
© shaun
patrick green 2018
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