It's just like 1984... Have we no privacy no more?
Can't I have a little sleep outside the pub, say
Or a vomit near a subway
Or use a postbox as a crapper
Without some omnipresent snapper
Catching me with my pants around my knees
In fully searchable three hundred and sixty degrees.

I understand the neighbours might bawk
When I hang my monthly sacrificial goat on my front porch
I can handle their contempt,
But I do not consent
To my goat playing a part in your creepy global experiment

It's just like 1984... Have we no privacy no more?
If I bumped into Jimmy as he leaves an adult store
Carrying edible undies and a  toy or four
The chance of our interception
Is a risk he's acceptin
But that don't mean he wants his bag of butt-plugs up on the net.

It's just like 1984, well,
Even the late Georgey Orwell
Would surely think he was hearing a fiction
If you tried to describe how far this [bad word] s gone
Would presume you were taking the [bad word] Bein happy with technology like this
Where you can sit n watch Jimmy on the Big Fat Quiz
Whilst peering into the letterbox of that swanky flat of his.