Vidiots

Hey Wonka, if you can send chocolate by T.V., can you send a person too? Oh, I suppose so, but there might be some technical issues (Alas, alas, poor Mike Teavee) (For O.M.G. he's ADD) You can't stop progress, I'm doing it Uh, Mike, no (He's like so many nowadays, it's awfully modern this malaise) Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Mike Teavee T.V. show (For every child that through a fit, the T.V. set would babysit) Mr. Wonka, where is he? I'm looking, I'm looking There's so many channels (Attention spans have gone pal-mal, there's only time for L.O.L) The little people are singing again, that's never a good sign (They never step outside to play. Their world is dark, both night and day) He's jumping from screen-to-screen I think it's called channel hopping (The skies of blue, the pinks, the greens, are only viewed on laptop screens) Get him outta there I'm on T.V. Look at me, look at me! (They only move and exercise) What's happened to him? (Their clicking finger, and their thumb) He shrunk to fit the screen (Each braincell overloads and dies) Will he ever go back to normal? (As all their limbs are turning numb) Noone ever goes back to normal after they've been on television Vidiots! They're just vidiots! The age of innocence is gone when certain sites are clicked upon And images that they repeat, once in their brain you can't delete And then like some barbaric hunt, our toddlers all are packing guns And children curse and smoke cigars, our nurseries now have prison bars They scream and rant, and raise their fists And fire their psychiatrist We hear then all the teenage hoards Who scream the battle cry, "We're bored!" Their minds will surely turn to mush, with words that make an ex-con blush They never mind their P's and Q's They long for piercings and tattoos Vidiots! They're just vidiots! (It's years since I've been to a rave) With all this info at a click, our book will rot upon the shelf If all the answers come too quick, our child won't think for himself Each day they text on their new toy, their thoughts and their location But O.M.G. will this destroy (the art of conversation?) So sing the story Mrs. T What's now become of Mike Teavee From wasting his entire brain He's stuck inside his own domain He'll channel surf 'til whereupon He'll find that nothing good is on And there is no remote control That he can use to find his soul His secrets now are yours and mine 'Cause everything he's got's online And who will watch this Mike Teavee? When there is newer junk to see? What once was viral, soon forgot But hand the clicker to his mom His future's not completely shot His new address is Mike.com! Vidiots! They're just vidiots! Vidiots! They're just vidiots! They're just vidiots!