Mr. Johnson calls the waiter, orders steak and baked potater
and he leaves the bones and gristle and he never eats the skin
the busboy comes and takes it, with a cough contaminates it
and he puts it in a can with coffee grounds and sardine tins
and the truck comes by on Fridays and carts it all away
a thousand trucks just like it are converging on the bay- O!
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
We're fillin' up the seas with Garbage
What will we do when there's no place left to put all the Garbage?

Mr. Johnson starts his cadillac and winds it down the freeway track
leaving friends and neighbors in a hydrocarbon haze
he's joined by lots of smaller cars, all sending gasses to the stars
and there they form a seething cloud that hangs for thirty days
and the sun licks down into it with her ultraviolet tongue
and turns it into smog and then it settles in our lungs- O!
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
We're fillin' up the skies with Garbage
what will we do when there's nothin' left to breathe but Garbage?

Gettin' home and takin' off his shoes, he settles for the evening news
while the kids do homework with the T.V. in one ear
while Superman for the millionth time sells talkin' dolls and conquers crime
dutifully they learn the date of birth of Paul Revere
and in the papers there's a piece about the latest, greatest fame
and he gets it read in time to watch the all-star football game- O!
Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! Garbage!
We're fillin' up our minds with Garbage
What will we do when there's nothin' left to read and there's nothin' left to need
and there's nothin' left to watch and there's nothin' left to touch
and there's nothin' left to walk upon and there's nothin' left to talk upon
and nothin' left to see and nothin' left to be but Garbage?