Early in the morning the black beasts set out
They ride the rails to seek out prey,
Stealth fighters swooping along
In the twilight part of day.

Winging ‘cross the town like hawks
Finding and destroying those they seek,
Designed to fight and win World Wars
Their enemies’ chances are mighty bleak.

Rocket-launchers on both sides it seems
To blast away all opposition,
When wars are meant to fight and win
They have no real competition.

The stealth reconnaissance pram
Is a fearsome weapon of war,
Bulging with sacks to carry weapons
The finest fighting machine you ever saw.

It wages war on Melbourne’s streets
Sending pensioners and invalids flying,
Strong men stand and quiver in fear
Small children run away crying.

The mighty machine has no real rival
As a machine of war it stands alone,
But God help passengers on the bus
When the owner decides to take it home.

With one stealth reconnaissance pram
There’s barely any room to move,
But when two machines clog the aisles
You know there’s just no use:

You might as well get off and walk
And hope you get hope fast,
As buses that are nearly empty
All keep zooming past.

With two stealth reconnaissance prams
Only half-a-dozen people can get aboard,
The death machines clog up the aisle
So the bus zooms past frustrated hordes.

Why must those going to and from work
Put up with these weapons of war?
Machines designed to fight and win
And as an afterthought have a baby aboard.