King George Square
Gone are the fountains, trees and grass
Now I just burn my big, fat arse.
No children splashing to get cool,
No drunken teens paddling like fools.
The pigeons have gone no scraps to eat.
No children chasing after them and kicking their feet.
No practical jokes, no wishing well.
Hang around too long and you’ll think you’re in hell.
Nowhere for the protestor to pitch a tent
Sunburn for those that preach dissent.
A city should have a heart not an iron lung
There isn’t even a park bench for the local bum.
Bring back the trees, the grass, the fountain
Pull up the concrete and move that mountain
Cuz we want our old Square back
Where the weeds can grow through every crack.