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~~~ When Ya' Askin' For The Time ~~~
I was tramping down the highway, on me way to Jindabine,
When this fella' pulled me up and said, "Hello."
He asked me for the time, and if I was doin' fine,
And then he said goodbye and let me go.
It gets on me flamin' wick, and it really makes me sick,
When a bloke he stops me dead out on the track.
And he asks me for the time, and if I'm doin' fine,
Then he turns around and shows his flamin' back.
Every bloke should know, when a man is on the go,
And he's headin' for his place out in the scrub.
And if he needs a place chat, 'bout this or flamin that,
Then he'd go and have a yarn down at the pub.
But all you blokes out there, if ya really have care,
When ya' stop a man and ask him for the time.
Discuss a few more things, like motor cars or string,
And take him home and share a glass of wine.
'Cos a bloke that shares his plonk, until he's flamin' zonked,
From a flagon of a red or maybe white.
And drinks with his new friend, till the flagons at its end,
Then puts him up to camp the flamin' night.
So don't treat it like a joke, when you see a worn out bloke,
Who's trampin' out towards the setting sun.
It's no big flamin' deal, to invite him for a meal,
And to have a yarn get drunk and have some fun.
October 5, 1999
~~ 251 ~~
~~~ Ode to Home Brew ~~~
Have you ever had the sudden urge, to get a gut load full of grog,
Drinkin' grog it is a past time, it's been our way of life,
And, if he can't afford to buy it, he just makes his flamin' own
And we all have different recipes, for the home brew that we make,
So all you seasoned drinkers, all you blokes from near and far,
And when your time is up, and you leave this world of ours,
October 10, 1999
~~ 252 ~~
~~~ JC ~~~
Me missus is a know-all, she's always lookin' for a fight,
She started off by sayin', that when Jesus was a lad,
But, I told her she was stupid, and she was a flamin' mug,
So I told that silly woman all about that Jesus Christ,
"So I told her that!"
Jesus, never kissed a sheila, or threw a flamin' punch
And he claimed that he was magic, and he fixed sick people up,
Then he got a mob together, twelve crawlers so they say,
And he started tellin' yarns about, the Pharaoh and the Kings
But he was a lazy bastard, 'cos he never seemed to work,
Then every one got sick of him, and all his crazy mates,
But they wouldn't bloody listen, they just wouldn't bloody go,
Me missus she just looked at me in total disbelief,
So the moral of this story is; never argue with ya' wife,
October 11, 1999
~~ 258 ~~
~~~ Beer, Mate! ~~~
Have ya' ever thought about,
Beer, Mate!
Now beer it's a bonzer drink,
I started drinkin' years ago,
I'd polish off twelve king browns,
Then for mornin' smoke 'o',
Then for lunch I'd lubricate,
I'd hit the pub at knock off time,
So! Beer mate, it's the way to go,
November 17, 1999
~~ 261 ~~
~~~ So Ya' Think I'm Lazy ~~~
"You give me the flamin' irrits," She ses',
"Bloody lazy," I ses, "Is that what ya' think,
"You'd nag a man to death, given' 'alf a chance,"
All she ses' is, "And where do you think you are goin' now,"
"'Cos strike a light, all you want to do is moan,
"And when I's gets back, from down that flamin' pub,
November 28, 1999
~~ 272 ~~
~~~ Sometimes ~~~
Sometimes we think we're wonderful,
So listen to this story
"She said"
"Get out ya' cranky bastard!
"'Cos every time you drink too much
"Ya' rave about how good ya' are
"And you know nothing 'bout no one,
"'Cos ya' reckon you're a lover,
"'Cos ya' breath it smells like turpentine,
"And ya' smell just like a brewery
"And ya' tell me you're a hero
"And ya' think from drinkin' bucket fulls
"But ya' bloody well mistaken,
"So, you can go to buggery
So I listened to her story
'Cos tomorra' is anotha' day,
So I might as well stay flamin' drunk
January 10, 2000
~~ 273 ~~
~~~ They All Need Bloody Glasses ~~~
They reckon your good lookin'
But I think they all need glasses
And ya' feet are fat and stinky
But all the blokes from down the pub
January 11, 2000
~~ 275 ~~
~~~ And Ya' ~~~
I bet ya' wife don't think it's funny, when ya' spendin' all ya' money,
And you forget about the strife, you'll get into with ya' wife,
And ya' trips up on ya' dog, and ya' bring up half the grog,
But when you stagger through the door, and stumble on the floor,
But ya' fall onto ya' bed and rest ya' drunken head,
'Cos the next time you come home, there's no one there to moan,
But! Now there's dishes in the sink, and they flamin' bloody stink,
And everything looks bad so, ya' stick in a flamin' ad
January 12, 2000
and have you ever been so drunk you couldn't stand.
And have you staggered down the roadway, unsteady on ya' feet,
and ended up some place you hadn't planned.
as every Aussie bloke he seems to know.
But he's never had the power, to stop at only one,
he'd just drinks and drinks until he overflows.
Home brew it is the only way to go.
'Cos you can brew it in a bottle, or in a keg or in a jar,
and it's cheaper than the pub we bloody know.
some are better, some are worse, but they're okay.
And you can drink it by the truck load, in the comfort of ya' home,
and if you get drunk you'll never loose your way.
the ones that bugle big brown bottles by the score.
Just make your bloody own, then ya' missus shouldn't moan,
if you get drunk and sleep upon the floor.
when you pull the pin and fi-na-lly let go.
God will take you by the hand, into the promised land,
to that happy place where free grog always flows.
But, she really hasn't got a flamin' clue.
And she reckons that Jesus Christ, is a better bloke than me,
That's when we had this real, ding-dong blue.
How he'd done, every thing that he was ever told.
And he was a ripper bloke, and respected everyone,
From the children, men and women to the old.
And that she'd never read a bible in her life.
And if she wants to preach the word, of Jesus Bloody Christ,
She should've been a priest and not a wife.
'Cos I'd read that bloody bible years ago.
And I knew about the stories, that every body told,
When Jesus and his mates they ran this show.
And he never drunk a truck load full of grog.
He just used a hammer and nail, and made things outa' wood,
And for that, he got crucified and flogged.
And he feed the pop-u-lus with bread and fish.
And he made the cripples walk, and the leper's well again,
But he never drunk a truck load full of piss.
And he made 'em wash his feet and scrub his toes.
And he made 'em swear to secrecy, of their demented ways
And to follow him around each place he goes.
And he said that they were crooks and bloody queer.
And he made another fella, cart, lumps of rocks around,
But he never drunk a truck load full of beer.
He kept bludgin' off the people as he went.
And they gave him lotsa' tucker and lotsa' of flamin' cash,
'Cos he made 'em give it up for flamin' lent.
'Cos they're wowsers, and they're bludgers, and they're wogs
So they told 'em to get out of town, and never to come back,
And if they did come back they'd feed 'em to the dogs.
They just raved about how Jesus was the boss.
So the locals done their nana's, and chucked those crawlers down a well,
And they grabbed JC and nailed him to a cross.
And mumbled out these words and shook her head.
"If Jesus he hears that story, you stupid drunken mug,
He'll send a bolt of lightning down, to strike you bloody dead."
'Cos she'll tell you things you never want to hear.
Just let her have her way, and booze your day away,
As you drink a bloody truck load full of beer.
The water that ya' drink.
It clogs ya' pipes and rusts 'em out,
So I'll tells ya' what I think.
It puts 'airs upon ya' chest.
It's better than a sheila mate,
In fact, it's the flamin' best
Buglin' big brown bottles by the score.
I'd drink until I overflowed,
Then fall ar'sup on the floor.
For brekkie every day.
Then guzzle down a dozen more,
Before headin' on me way.
I'd down a pot or two.
Then get back, to flamin' work,
Makin' kits of home made brew.
Me beer tube with ice cold grog.
I'd elbow bend till two o'clock,
Then back, to workin' like a dog.
And drink till ten PM.
Then go home and sleep it off,
Then start it all gain'.
Fill ya' fridge on every shelf.
'Cos if the Good Lord knew, a better brew,
Then he's kept it to him-self.
"Just sittin' there drinkin' flamin' beer all day.
Why don't you git off your arse,
Ya' lazy bastard , and get some flamin' class."
Each time, I sits down to have a rest and have a drink.
And class! Strike me pink, a man needs his own relief,
And all ya' do is bring me flamin' grief."
I ses, as I get up to change me flamin' pants.
"I'm sicka' listenin' to ya yell and moan,
I'd be better off just bein' on me own."
"Out!", I ses', and mumbles that she's just a silly cow".
"Out! Down to the pub, where a man can get a bit of peace and quiet,
And not be nagged by you and cause a riot."
And argue, bloody argue, it's got me beat why ya gotta' groan.
Ya' never bloody satisfied with what's ya' got in life,
And all's ya' do is moan and cause me pain and strife."
I'll be drunk, and if you 'aven't cooked me any grub.
I'm gunna' build you a new 'ouse, a flamin' dog 'ouse,
And I'll shove ya' in it, then you'll be as quiet as a mouse."
And sometimes we think we're cool.
But when we drink too flamin' much
We're a flamin' bloody fool.
That I was bloody told.
By me flamin' missus,
It made me blood run cold.
Why the hell are you still here?
You've had enough to sink a ship
From all that flamin' beer."
Ya' mind goes 'round the bend,
I'd of thought ya'd had more flamin' brains
But ya' think from your wrong end."
And of all the things ya' know,
But ya' bloody know sweet bugger all
So, I don't know why ya' crow."
You know nothing much of life,
And you know less, of flamin' me,
That's why you are in strife."
Of great re-bloody known,
But when you get into the cot
Ya' like a bloody clown."
And ya' eyes glow in the dark.
And ya'd probably scare the pigeons
Off, the statues in the park."
That's been gutted by a fire,
And ya' say ya' sweet and innocent
Just like a schoolboys choir."
And ya' tough and bloody strong,
And how that you, can clear a room,
But I know it's from ya' pong."
Of that liquid amber brew,
It'll makes ya' flamin' bullet proof
And bloody handsome too."
And ya' bloody well mislead,
'Cos, I'd rather sleep with Dracula
Or bloody well be dead."
'Cos ya' make me sick ya' see,
Just get out of here and don't come back
'Cos ya' don't belong with me".
Kinda' quiet, mild and meek.
Then, I pulled the blankets to me head,
Curled up and went to sleep.
I'll be sober just by then,
Then I'll open up a beer,
And she'll be on me back agin'.
And pretend I'm flamin' smooth,
And flirt with chicks, fat and thick,
And pretend I'm in the groove.
And ya' sorta', kinda' cute
And you're as pretty as a pic-cha'
And as delicate as fruit
And ya' smell just like a flowa'
And ya' lips are rosy red
And a man would be in 'eaven
If, 'e could get ya' inta' bed.
And a seein' eye-dog too
'Cos there are plenty other women
Besides just bloody you.
'Cos I reckon your plain ugly
And ya' nose is short and fat
There's spuds, growin' from ya' ears
And ya' hair looks like a 'at.
And you're pigeon toed as well
And ya' teeth have turned to yella'
And ya' breath it bloody smells,
And ya' make-ups plastered two foot thick
It's a bloody big disgrace
And when ya' take ya' bra off
Ya' lose the wrinkles off ya' face.
Still reckon you're okay
But they really 'aven't got a clue
'Cos they're drunk most ev-ery day
And they've never seen ya' in the raw
Or ate that poison you call grub
'Cos they only ever see ya'
When ya' pissed down at the pub.
Down the pub drinkin' piss with all ya' mates.
And ya' never do go home, till ya' soaked right to the bone,
And ya' couldn't flamin' care if you are late.
And ya' really couldn't care a flamin' bit.
And ya' legs begin to groan, when you stagger your way home,
And ya' know ya' gunna' get into the shit.
That ya' paid for, instead of payin' bills.
And ya' know ya' wife will yell, and tell you to go to hell,
While she's frothin' at her mouth and at the gills.
And chunder up a belly full of beer.
And ya' fall into ya' room, trippin' on a flamim' broom,
And find ya' missus gone she's disappeared.
And think that if she's gone it's just too bad.
And when ya' finally wake, in the ducks and flamin' drakes,
And start to smile and feel rather glad.
If ya' sober or indifferent or ya' pissed.
'Cos there's tucker on the shelf and you can cook ya' flamin' self,
So ya' missus she'll not be flamin' missed.
And the grass is six foot high outside the door.
And ya' clothes are never clean, and footprints can be seen,
In the dirt that needs sweepin' off the floor.
For a cook to sweep and wash ya' flamin' floor.
And ya' get a big surprise when there's only one reply,
And it's from the missus, that you had before.