I used to like a spot of Spam but now I fear it makes me sweat.
Not the spicy slice of ham that's so tasty when deep-fried,
But the ever-growing build-up of junk email that we get.
Clever money-making schemes and products you'd have to hide.

My email is driving me mad, and it just keeps getting worse.
At the start it was just a problem, but now it's become a curse.

I don't want a new coffee maker, or share my bath time with a nun.
I don't want a chocolate fireguard, or to establish my own bank.
I don't want a masters certificate, or a point thirty-eight calibre gun.
I don't want a lifetime's supply of viagra, or lightly armoured tank.

I just want my own messages, sent from the family and friends.
But these days I can't see where the list of junk begins or ends.

So now our government has decided to make sending spam illegal.
Italian spammers will be sent to jail without the chance of passing go.
Right, so they'll all move to Korea, or start sending out from Senegal.
Will this legislation make one jot of difference, we just don't know.

I might trade in my Inbox, and use the bright red and shiny post-box.
I might give up the Internet religion, and buy a carrier pigeon.

I don't want the lowest interest rate, that the world has ever known.
I don't want a Gucci handbag, or a hand-made Rolex watch.
I don't want to earn ten thousand pounds, by working in my home.
I don't want performance increase, to power pack my crotch.

I just want communication, to tell my friends that I still care
Without those flashing bits of girls that try to make me stare.

This technology was born to share our work and scientific views.
Now it's there to show us porn and sell us things we didn't need.
The Internet that can join our world has become so easy to abuse.
Out from dark corners have come the men with malice and greed.

I don't want to read about the eventual breakdown of the net.
I want to see the spammers squirm in pain at the punishment they get.