When I was a kid, I was an accessory—
And I don’t mean a criminal accessory, mind,
Nah… I was more like a dongle,
Somethin’ to lug ’round, make ’em look wrong’un
A little handbag with lungs

You see ’em all the time, down the high street, posh and stressed
Mums with the prams, dads lookin’ depressed
Their whole world’s a showroom, everything matches
Kids are just props in their Instagram captures

Got the organic yoghurt, the tiny designer shoes,
The “Babyccino” attitude, the subtle judgement cues
They’ve got it all figured—’cept how to raise a soul
Too busy making sure the accessories stay in control

You see ’em all the time, down the high street, posh and stressed
Mums with the prams, dads lookin’ depressed
Their whole world’s a showroom, everything matches
Kids are just props in their Instagram captures

And I look at my little ’un—snotty nose, scraped-up knees,
Laughin’ at farts in the backyard, happy in the breeze
We might not match our towels, our life ain’t colour-coordinated
But our love’s never laminated

Yeah, kids are just props…
Not my kid though…
She’s my world, not my widget…
She’s my world…