Text: Pedro The Lion. Control. Progress.

Here we have our dust-free dining set
We guarantee it won't collect a speck
Freeing up the children to instead
Grow into your molding
Heed more of your scolding
Go early to their new self-making beds

Seems like you'd be tired of losing face
Like you'd want to put the children in their place
The more you have to tell them to do their chores
The more you run the risk of being ignored
If you're lucky they'll turn out as good as you
You tell them that they're good kids but you know it isn't true
Your father drank a little; you're on liver number two
Progress has a way of feigning ease
Convenient new inventions bait the tease
For though it is impossible to cure:
A husband bent on cheating
The oxygen depleting
A child who's always bragging
A wife's persistent nagging
We're equipped to live though it were

If you're lucky they'll turn out as good as you
You tell them that they're good kids but you know it isn't true
Your father drank a little; you're on liver number two