The art capitals of New York, London and Berlin/
forget to include the city of Frankston/
In other places art is made for pay/
But in Frankston it's made on hard rubbish day/

A day when all households be it unit or mansion/
Can take their neighbours couch for their home’s expansion/
Most of everything is thrown out for a reason/
But that doesn’t stop anyone, tis the season/

And the scraps that are left, the irreperable remnant/
Are usually what was left by the previous tenant/
The cracked Hisense and the busted couch/
A combo for which only they could vouch/

Frankston's latest installation/
will prove to be the finest in the nation/
behold a child's missing dolly/
and a pile of junk in a Kmart trolley/

A change in the demographic of our beloved town/
A rise in bohemians, a breed until now/
Was at best relatively sparse/
We’re seeing the emergence of a different class
If you don’t like it well I guess it missed you/
Don’t be surprised when the art snobs dismiss you/
Taunting the poor builds up a thirst/
Gentrification is a hard days work/

(what do we call em boys!)

YOB, YOB, YOB, YOB!

If you want art of a more abstract sort/
then take the 901 bus to the airport/
you'll drive past the burbs where the artists hide/
their latest work left on the roadside/
They say one day that the pines will be/
A yuppy suburb, and that suits me/
A place where me and my uni friends/
Can sneer at the plebs as they try to pretend/
To understand the latest in abstract expressionism/
But these phonies don’t even listen to TISM/
If you wanna have authority when it comes to art/
Then get a double degree and hand roll your darts/

This is the new avant garde!/
The snooty artists’ write all the headlines/
And then when the hacks get bored of all the squalor/
They move on to the next suburb taking their dollars/
If you don’t like it I guess it missed you/
Don’t be surprised when the art snobs dismiss you/
Taunting high-schoolers builds up a thirst/
Gentrification is a honest days work/

This ain’t how I thought it would end leavin you again/
Someday I’ll be with you again, old friend/
I’ll find my old house replaced with a tower and car parks/
And where my, bedroom used to be, now there’s a leather couch and vending machine/
I drive on to the highway, past another building site, to find some escape/