Fire up the chainsaws
Remember when you came here? You vowed no more to roam,
you thought you had discovered your forever home.
But now those dreams are shattered, in just one beat,
next door's up for sale. The sign is on the street!
Chorus: Fire up the chainsaws, let them rip!
Send every tree off to the tip.
Bring up the trucks, let the concrete flow,
we're doing it so the economy can grow.
The outcome you fear will soon emerge,
with wallets held high, developers converge.
They'll level the site and clear every tree,
instead of one house there will now be three.
The lot's too small, surely it's a fix?
But no! They've invoked clause four point six.
If you complain, they won't hear your plea,
it seems they're exempt from the DCP.
You will be upset and in shock,
when you see the size of this ugly block.
They'll blot out the sun with a careless shrug,
there will barely be room for a single shrub.
Developers are eager to make a tidy sum,
by transforming every street into a crowded slum.
The council are happy, to them it makes good sense.
The only ones who suffer are the local residents.
Against all the odds, some trees still stand,
but the developers have a cunning plan.
They say to the council "those trees will have to go,
wouldn't you much rather see the colour of our dough?"
Soon there will be no more land to pave,
developers will leave to find the gold they crave.
We'll all be sweating and cursing our mistakes,
the council will blame us and then they'll raise the rates.
Email, 3 Sep 2021
Frank Wiffen, Woy Woy