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~~~ The Perfect Bush Pav ~~~
The perfect pavlova is
Somethin' that I make,
It's more than just a plain old pav
Or ya' best'est kinka' cake.
I only use fresh emus eggs,
two or three I think,
And the sugar that's been left in cups,
In me rusty kitchen sink.
I mix it with me magic stick
In the early morning sun,
Upon a size 4 shovel,
To make sure it doesn't run.
I use an old tin pannin' dish
To put the mixture in,
Then I stick on me barby plate
For the cookin' to begin.
Then I go and pick the fruit
From trees out in the scrub.
Quandong nuts and sandalwood
And the fattest bardie grub.
And the milk it comes from bunyips
That I mix up into cream,
'Cos, that always makes the finest pav
That you have ever seen.
So, If you ever come this way,
Just ring and let me know,
And I'll mix you up me best'est pav
And get the cookin' on the go.
And I'll boil you up the finest brew,
Of tea in this here place,
And you can be sure, you'll get a feed,
That will put a smile upon ya' face.
June 16, 2001
~~~ 463 ~~
~~~ Those Great Australian Pests ~~~
The time has come the old bloke says
His old mate spoke in just refute
Settle down the old bloke says
His old mate said in just reply
The old bloke says with half a smile
I will no doubt his old mate grins
The old bloke sighs then smiles again
Between the pollies and the poofters
© June 25, 2001
~~ 464 ~~
~~~ Another Dirty Story ~~~
Eating dirt it's kinda' yucky, it really is no good,
Has it happened to your grandpa, and grandma-ma as well?
And when you go and ask them, why they eat that dirty stuff,
So your grandma and your grandpa, tell you a little tale
'Cos, it isn't really dirty, if we wash it in our sink
* * * *
But you can't upset your grandma, or your grandpa-pa as well
So, next time you see your grandma, or your granddad on the ground
©June 26, 2001
~~ 480 ~~
~~~ Just as Liars Go ~~~
I went up north to earn a quid, to muster stock you see,
A gentle giant of a man with hair as white as snow,
We rode out west upon a track that chased the setting sun,
The sun had nearly set it self when we finally stopped to eat,
"You're not used of ridin' 'orses", the boss he said to me,
Horses, bloody horses, I had promised myself never, bloody never,
Me mind it snapped back into shape when the boss began to brag,
Christ! I thought, another bloke who's been and done the lot,
He said he knew that, 'cos he'd heard of me, from a bloke just south of here,
So I'll teach this bloke to tell me that all his yarns are real and true,
We packed up camp next morning and went upon our way,
Then he got right on my quince when he lied about his drinkin'
And he won the flamin' Melbourne Cup on a ten year brumby mare,
'Cos I'm the only bloke alive to walk that desert track,
And I strung that co-ax cable from England to our coast,
Then I rode an eight-foot kangaroo across the Tanami,
That boss he cracked a darkie, and then bunged on a cryin' show,
So I told him where to stick his job and for him to go to hell,
©July 18, 2001
~~ 493 ~~
~~~ Rex The Randy Rooster ~~~
Rex, he was a randy rooster,
With his head, held right back
Until one day last summer
Rex just scoffed at Cyril
But Rex he was mis-taken
The hens all gathered round him,
But, old Rex got mad and cranky
So, he formed a plan, "So Cunning"
So early that next morning
Now, Rex he was a racer,
The hens were diss-a-pointed
But, they had this one con-dition,
So Rex and Cyril had to race,
And Rex he kept on winning,
Poor Rex he started losing,
The farmer liked to watch those two,
So the farmer took some pity,
And when he looked at Rexy there,
Maybe Rex had lot the plot,
* * *
©July 31, 2001
~~ 495 ~~
~~~ A Chook Without Feathers ~~~
Our local old chook has a whole new look,
With shoes on her feet, that looks strange or looks neat,
And I really don't know, if they're claws or they're toes,
But, to remove all her feathers just weren't really clever,
When she danced up and down, at that disco in town,
But, as she got rather old, her skin it got cold,
So she started to drink, hair-restorer I think,
But she still persevered with this, medication I fear,
© August 1, 2001
~~ 505 ~~
~~~ Old Rosie ~~~
I knew her just as Rosie, and she weren't no flamin' posie,
She was short and kinda' tubby and she'd suck upon a stubbie,
And her looks weren't all that neat and the thongs upon her feet,
And her breath, well strike a light, would kill a motor-bike,
Every day she'd front the bar, to drink her grog and smoke cigars,
But, she had a heart of gold, and the locals they have told,
He'd been comin' down a hill after popin' magic pills,
All those sheep were saved that day, and the towns-folk cheered like mad,
So, old Rosie's she's a legend, and of that I sorta' mentioned.
But, poor Rosie got de-jec-ted, when they took up a col-lec-tion,
© September 3, 2001
~~ 509 ~~
~~~ Where's Me Flamin' Cat ~~~
Where Oh where Oh where, where's me flamin' cat
I hope he's not chop suey, I hope he's not dim-sims
Where Oh where Oh where, where's me flamin' cat
Hang on there a moment there goes me tel-le-phone
Where Oh where Oh where, where's me flamin' cat
It only was a salesman, I think I've lost me mind
Where Oh where Oh where, where's me flamin' cat
Maybe he's just sittin' there stuck up in a tree
Where Oh where Oh where, where's me flamin' cat
It's almost been near twenty years since my pussy disappeared
Where Oh where Oh where, where's me flamin' cat
I found him yes I found him I've found me flamin' cat
Where Oh where Oh where, where's me flamin' cat
© October 25, 2001
Of many days gone by,
Of bunny rabbits and wild cats
Of foxes, pigs and flies
Of these things the old bloke said,
If it wasn't for those rotten pests
We'd have nothing on our bread.
I know these things were true,
'Cos, they sure are good to flamin' eat
And they make a bonzer stew.
You sure are right at that,
But I'll be dammed if I'm gunna' eat
Flamin' dog or cat.
Some things are best unsaid,
But do make sure before you cook,
That the flamin' things are dead
I will for flamin' sure,
I'll skin em' and I'll butcher em',
And chuck their innards out the door
And wistfully agrees,
That Australia's not the same old place
As it used to be.
And the kiwis and the rest,
We're better off, a mile ahead
With those great Australian pests.
It's especially bad when that dirt, gets mixed up with your food.
Dirt it grinds up all your teeth, and then gets underneath your plate,
And by the time you spit it out, it is too flamin' late.
And when you looked into their mouths, could you really tell.
And do they like that dirty taste, of all that dirty yucky dirt,
And is it stuck on grandma's blouse, and stuck on grandpa's shirt.
Do they say they really have no choice, 'cos the pension's pretty tough.
And there isn't too much money left, after paying all their bills,
So they have to mix some dirt with food, so they can get their fill.
About the time when all was fine, and things they did not fail.
We had food upon our table, the finest food that there could be
But now we mix some dirt with food since they brung in GST.
We wash away the worms and grubs, and wash away the stink.
And we cook it on a simmering heat; to make sure it's cooked up great
Then we spread it on our vegetables set on our dinner plate.
And if you go to visit them, on a Sunday for a feed
Do you find them shaking dirt off, from around some weeds,
And do they put it in a saucepan, with some roses all in bud
And do you get the strangest feeling, that the gravy will be mud.
So you tell them that your tummy had just begun to swell.
And you have to got to Sydney, to see a doctor quick
But you race around the corner, and you vomit and be sick.
Just don't sure their eating up, some tasty dirt they've found.
You'd better try to wake them, don't stand and shake your head
'Cos, they just might be lying there, full of dirt and dead.
But I didn't know what to expect, or where that I would be.
So I met the boss at Aileron, just north of Alice Springs,
He was a bloke that spoke so loud it made me ears ring.
He shook me hand and said, "Com'on, we've a long, long way to go".
He was six foot eight, two hundred pounds with a grin that's three foot wide,
"That old black horse that's over there, is the one that you can ride".
He chatted 'bout the work he did and he made it sound like fun.
We rode and rode for most that day through saltbush scrub and sand,
Through stunted trees and spinifex that dotted all that land.
I set a fire to cook some food while; he hobbled, both our horse's feet.
The billy boiled and sung its song as the flames licked up its side,
And me body ached from top to toe, from that days long ride.
"And you 'ave two more days of this, then 'ow will ya' be?"
I just grimaced and then smiled at the thought of all that pain,
'Cos, I'd always swore I'd never ride a bloody horse again.
Since I'd given that bloke the toss, you know, that bloke from Snowy River.
How can I forget that day I made that bloke back down,
And made him give up horses, and made him go, and live inside a town.
Of how he'd run a scrubber down on a half bred brumby nag.
And a crock it bit off half its legs in the middle of that ride,
And how that brumby nag kept up, and never shifted in its stride.
How many yarns has he to tell, I bet they're tommyrot.
'Cos I am the original, Australian, ridgy-didge bush liar,
And I told him so, in no uncertain terms, pokin' wood into the fire.
And he said that all his yarns were true, so I had nothin' here to fear.
I just smiled to meself, another know all bloke I thought,
The type that raves on too much, and needs a lesson to be taught.
By the time I've done with him, he won't know what to do.
I'll just string him along with yarns and stuff until he understands
That I'm the best'est bonzer liar in this here wide brown land.
We yarned and rave in to, the best part of the day.
And the lies I told he topped them, with dexterity and ease,
So I let him keep his raving on, and to waffle as he pleased.
That's when I did me flamin' block, what was I ever thinkin'?
'Cost he said, he'd drunk straight Bundaberg with Four X for a chaser,
And he said he'd met with Lasseter and found that famous placer.
And how he set the Habour Bridge whilst holdin', the arch up in the air.
And how he swam to Tassie with his hands and legs both tied,
But when, he said he'd walked the Simpson I knew that he had lied.
In fact I walked it twenty times, up and flamin' back.
And I did it with no clobber on, and with out a flamin' hat,
And I made a hundred thousand runs, off a broken cricket bat.
And I strung that one to Yankee land but I do not like to boast.
And I cleaned off that Sahara of all its trees and scrub,
Then I went and drunk the country dry, of all its flamin' pubs.
And I rode a flamin' eagle, ten miles up in the sky.
And I floated down and landed on, top the great divide,
And I made a hundred foot of lash, from out a dingo's hide.
And told me I was lyin'and it was all hot air I blowed.
He said I never did that stuff or performed those feats or acts,
And I probably never flamin', walked half those bloomin' tracks.
'Cos, my yarns were not much different than, the ones he tried to tell.
So I grabbed me swag and tucker-bag and the rest of all my things,
And jumped an old goanna, and rode him back to Alice Springs.
A randy rooster Rex was he,
He'd strut around his chicken coop,
For all the hens to see.
And his nose up in the air.
He'd strut around that chicken yard,
Like he didn't have a care.
When Cyril came to stay,
A rooster half of Rex's age,
Came to that yard to play.
And said, "You will never do,
'Cos there's, not a single hen in here,
Who, will even look at you".
Of Cyril's charm and pluck,
The hens, became in-fat-u-ated
With Cyril's crow and cluck.
With shaking chicken legs,
All begging with young Cyril,
To be the father of their eggs.
When the hens all knocked him back,
So he'd have to find reason for,
Young Cyril, to get the chicken sack.
Rex giggled, to himself with glee,
He challenged Cyril to a race,
And the loser has to leave.
Those two rooster both line up
And the hens were all, egg-ci-ted
To be the winners cup.
He was nimble on his feet,
Young Cyril couldn't catch him,
And Cyril knew that he'd been beat.
And they went to Rex to say,
That, if he let young Cyril stay,
Then Rex could have his way.
And Rex he must agree,
'Cos those hens they ruled the roost in here
And, that's how it's gunna' be.
Each other every day,
And who ever won, became the dad,
Of those eggs the hens did lay.
Till, it slowly took it's toll
When Cyril started catching up,
Poor Rex he lost control.
His age began to show,
And all that Rex was good for now,
Was waking up to crow.
With Cyril, racing up ahead,
And when they finish racing 'round,
Poor Rex he looked half dead.
On poor Rex and set him free,
So, he got the axe, chopped off his head,
And cooked Rex up for tea.
All cooked up on his plate,
He couldn't really work it out why,
Rex chased his new coop-mate.
Or maybe Rex turned queer,
The farmer he just shrugged and ate,
And washed him down with beer.
Rex, he was a randy rooster,
Until young Cyril did arrive,
Now Cyril struts that chicken coop,
Wondering, just how long he will survive.
Her new fashions are easy to see.
'Cos, she removed all her feathers, and now wears her leathers,
Each time that she goes out for tea.
'Cos she ain't never worn 'em before.
And her crop and her beak, looks strange so to speak,
With lipstick that's plastered galore.
'Cos you can't really see 'em for shoes.
And that lipstick and stuff, makes her cute or just rough,
Or just like a pot full of goo.
When it's winter and starting to rain.
And the look of that chook, makes the roosters feel crook,
And drives them right out of their brain.
All the pullets and cockerels all crowed
And there at her feet so she'd dance to the beat,
Eggs and tomatoes were throwed.
From the lack of some warmth from no feathers.
So she shook and she cried and then realised,
That, you cannot get warm from suede leather.
And a feather restorer as well.
But she drunk it too quick, and, it made her feel sick,
And her tummy it started to swell.
She drank till her insides they died.
And her skin it dropped off, and passed away with a cough,
So we sold her to, Kentucky Fried.
And the first time that I met her was a scream.
She had the biggest flamin' eyes, full of maggots and blowflies,
Like somethin' from the horra's of a dream.
Or a bottle, or a flagon, or a can.
And her finger-nails were dirty and she acted sorta' shirty,
When ever she was lookin' for a man.
Were bought whilst shoppin' at the local tip.
And her clothes they were a mess, there was stains upon her dress,
It was sorta' like she'd lost her flamin' grip.
And make ya' socks fall off ya' flamin' feet.
And it could be flamin' said, "WAS", she alive or flamin' dead,
'Cos she smelt just like a lump of rottin' meat.
Until she started lookin' for a blue.
Then they'give the cops a shout, to chuck old Rosie out,
Before she covered every-one with spew.
'Bout the time she saved a mob of wayward sheep.
She'd been drinkin' by the creek, a mix of metho' so's to speak,
When the driver of a truck he fell ta' sleep.
And he never seen that mob there on that track.
So, Rosie struck a flamin' match, lit the gas from out her snatch,
And blew that truck right over on its back.
And took old Rosie right into their hearts.
Now, she's the top of all their lists, drunk or sober or half pissed,
For savin' all those sheep with fanny farts.
And they built a mon-u-ment upon that spot.
Where old Rosie saved them sheep, from their eternal sleep,
With the powers of a full-blown black-gins twat.
To scrub her up and polish up her clothes.
Then she done her flamin' quince and they haven't seen her since,
When they tried to take her thongs from off her toes.
I saw him just last Sunday a sleepin' in me hat
I don't know where he's got too and I don't know where he's at
Where Oh where Oh were Oh where Oh were, Oh where's me flamin' cat
Or being held for ransom, by a mob of crims
I'm really gunna' miss him, I've tears in me eyes
And I hope he's not at KFC's being served with fries.
I saw him just last Sunday a sleepin' in me hat
I don't know where he's got too and I don't know where he's at
Where Oh where Oh were Oh where Oh were, Oh where's me flamin' cat
Maybe he's a ringin' me to come and take him home
'Cos I'd givin' him me number in case that he got lost
But, I hope it's not the coppers tellin' me that he's been squashed,
I saw him just last Sunday a sleepin' in me hat
I don't know where he's got too and I don't know where he's at
Where Oh where Oh were Oh where Oh were, Oh where's me flamin' cat
And I wonder if my pussy, I'm ever gunna find
I really do, I miss him, he's gone and broke me heart
And when I find that bastard I'll rip him all apart.
I saw him just last Sunday a sleepin' in me hat
I don't know where he's got too and I don't know where he's at
Where Oh where Oh were Oh where Oh were, Oh where's me flamin' cat
And he's cold and wet and hungry and he's caught and can't get free
So I'd better go call triple 0 before he gets much thinner
To get him down and bring him home so he can have his dinner.
I saw him just last Sunday a sleepin' in me hat
I don't know where he's got too and I don't know where he's at
Where Oh where Oh were Oh where Oh were, Oh where's me flamin' cat
And I found him just this mornin' in the way that I had feared
All squashed and flat and hairless so he slips beneath my door
But I'm lookin' on the brighter side, I don't feed him any more,
I saw him just last Sunday a sleepin' in me hat
I don't know where he's got too and I don't know where he's at
Where Oh where Oh were Oh where Oh were, Oh where's me flamin' cat
He's little bit the worse for wear he's squashed and sorta' flat
But now I know just where he is and know just know where he's at
I found him yes I found him I've found me flamin' cat.
I saw him just last Sunday a sleepin' in me hat
I don't know where he's got too and I don't know where he's at
Where Oh where Oh were Oh where Oh were, Oh where's me flamin' cat