junk

early sunday morning, someone had the nerve to call me up
and i thought it was an emergency
but it was a recording wishing me a happy new year
and saying it had a special deal for me

so i hung up the phone, just take me off your list
i don’t mind sayin no to someone who don’t exist

but the phone keeps ringing so we better clear outta here
the phone keeps ringing so we better get outta here

a letter’s like a present. notes from my penpal or grandma’s
ten bucks on my birthday makes me turn the key
but my name ain’t “current resident,” and nothing in this pile of circulars
and pre-approvals, and thousand hours for free
seems to be addressed to me

so i open up the trash, and i throw it all away
the good stuff never lasts, it’s just one more chance to pay

but the mailman’s coming so, we better clear outta here
the mailman’s coming so we better get outta here

there’s thousands of people sending me stuff i don’t want
and more thousands of people who get the same for me
we all press empty folder, and the junk just keeps on coming
i guess that’s the price of all this talk for free

you can press “unsubscribe,” but you get what you give
or you could close your eyes, i mean if that’s how you’re livin.

the junk keeps coming so we better clear outta here
the junk keeps coming so we better get outta here
the junk keeps coming so, you betta.

© 2003 c holford

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