[Intro – catchy crunchy guitar riff, driving bass, punchy punk drums] [Verse 1 – fast melodic female punk vocal] Eight fifteen on a Tuesday, coffee barely in my hand, Pulled the kitchen curtain open— there's a bloke upon my land. Yellow vest and muddy boots, clipboard underneath his arm, Standing halfway down the garden looking perfectly fucking calm. He's staring at the fence posts, writes a number, checks it twice, Walks towards my fucking shed like somebody gave him rights. I open up the back door, ask him what the fuck's going on. He checks something on his clipboard like I'm the clueless one. [Pre-Chorus – suspicious build] What something? Who planned it? Who the fuck sent you? He nods towards the fence and says they're starting preliminary— [Shout-sung] PRELIMINARY FUCKING WHAT?! [Chorus – big catchy punk vocal] THERE'S A MAN IN MY GARDEN! HE'S MEASURING MY WALL! I DON'T KNOW WHO FUCKING SENT HIM! HE WON'T EXPLAIN AT ALL! THERE'S A MAN IN MY GARDEN! WITH A CLIPBOARD AND A VEST! AND SOMEHOW THOSE TWO OBJECTS MAKE ME QUESTION MYSELF! [Instrumental – lively dirty guitar hook] [Verse 2 – quick storytelling vocal] Nine o'clock, another van pulls up outside the gate, Woman gets out with a camera, waves like she's expected late. Photographs the apple tree, the drainpipe and the ground, Puts a little chalk mark where there's nothing to be found. Then another bloke arrives with complicated gear, Sets a tripod by the flowerbed and peers through something weird. First guy says, “Morning, Dave,” so apparently they know. Nobody introduces Dave to me. Why the fuck would they, though? [Pre-Chorus – frustrated] Now there's three in my garden, doing several different things! One is measuring the paving! One is photographing bins! I ask again what's happening. They say it's all preliminary— [Shout-sung] STOP SAYING THAT FUCKING WORD TO ME! [Chorus – bigger] THERE ARE PEOPLE IN MY GARDEN! THEY'RE INSPECTING FUCK KNOWS WHAT! THEY'VE GOT MEASURING TAPE AND CAMERAS! THEY'VE GOT LITTLE COLOURED DOTS! THERE ARE PEOPLE IN MY GARDEN! AND THEY ALL KNOW WHERE TO STAND! I OWN EVERY FUCKING INCH OF THIS— SO WHY DON'T I KNOW THE PLAN?! [Instrumental Break – melodic guitar lead] [Verse 3 – faster vocal] Ten fifteen, someone marks an X beside the gate, Dave writes down another number, woman says they're running late. Now they're pointing at the rooftop, then they're pointing at the street, Someone measures from the birdbath to a crack beneath his feet. I ask if I should move my car. They say, “Shouldn't be required.” Required for fucking what? I'm getting really tired. Then they pack the tripod, camera, markers, measuring tape, First guy checks his clipboard and they walk out through the gate. Three hours of activity. Not one clue what they've done. Four professionals arrived— then disappeared by one. [Chorus – energetic bewildered vocal] THERE WERE PEOPLE IN MY GARDEN! NOW THEY'VE FUCKING DISAPPEARED! THREE HOURS OF PROFESSIONAL SHIT AND NOTHING'S ANY CLEARER HERE! THEY CAME! THEY SAW! THEY MEASURED! AND THEN THEY ALL FUCKED OFF! [Bridge – melodic punk vocal] Nothing changed. Fence still standing. Tree's exactly where it was. No hole. No sign. No letter. No explanation through the post. Then Saturday I'm mowing and I see it by the tree— A little orange traffic cone that definitely isn't me. [Music builds] [Final Verse – fast playful vocal] Could throw it out. It's just a cone. But what if Dave comes back? What if it's important? What if moving it ruins that? So I mow around the bastard. Leave it exactly where it stands. One week turns into two weeks. Still don't understand. Neighbour asks me why it's there. I say it's preliminary. He nods like that makes sense— [Shout-sung] OH FUCK OFF, SERIOUSLY?! [Final Chorus – huge melodic punk vocal] THERE'S A CONE IN MY GARDEN! AND I'M SCARED TO MOVE THE THING! I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MARKS! I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT FUCKING MEANS! THERE'S A CONE IN MY GARDEN! DAVE COULD COME BACK ANY DAY! SO I'M LIVING WITH THE BASTARD 'TIL SOMEBODY TAKES IT AWAY! MY HOUSE! MY LAWN! APPARENTLY NOT MY PLAN! ALL BECAUSE ONE TUESDAY MORNING THERE WAS A MAN— IN MY FUCKING GARDEN! [Final energetic guitar riff]
