OH INDUSTRY (Whatever Will Become of Me?)
A cloud descends on Mayfield;
It's from the BHP.
We cough, we choke, we splutter;
We vainly try to see.
It greets us when we go out,
It greets us coming in.
It gets up our collective nose,
And grey-ifies our skin.
This stinking smog must stop!
It's time to say enough!
Let's clear the air, and ban for good
Such filthy out-belched stuff.