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~~ 443 ~~
~~~ My Dear Old Granny's Ghost ~~~
I've, just seen me dear Old Granny in the garden,
I wandered up to her and said, "Good mornin' Granny,
She said,
"Ya' Grandad used to drink too much too often,
"But,
I slowly changed his drunkard drinkin' habits.
"So
I've come here today to stop ya' drinkin',
I had a think, and then replied to Grandma,
"And go and give ya' sermon to the devil,
April 9, 2001
~~ 466 ~~
~~~ Blame it on the Beer ~~~
When beer it was invented
©June 26, 2001
~~ 481 ~~
~~~ The Meaning of "To Shout" ~~~
Some times I often wonder what's it all about,
There has to be a mob of blokes, in this rit-ual of old,
So,.to shout it means you buy the drinks for all ya' mates ya' see,
The first bloke buys a round of drinks, and ya' down it pretty quick,
Then the third blokes next to hit his kick, and ya' set a steady pace,
But a strange thing seems to happen, at the end of every round,
So they brush it off as oversight, that he missed his turn to buy,
And by that time most of those blokes are too drunk to flamin' think,
And they tell him that he's not a mate, a bludger's what he is,
So, from my observations, I observed from all those blokes,
©July 19, 2001
~~ 541 ~~
~~~ The Hotel Cook ~~~
There is a bloke that we all know
He spends most days upon his stool
He sits and drinks just shandies now
But little does that fellow know
And then one day it happened
So he beckoned her right over
She asked him to her kitchen
She cooked just like his mother
He'd also give the grog away
She blushed and said she'd love to
© February 23, 2002
~~ 546 ~~
~~~ I Love Me Grog ~~~
I'll tell ya' mate fair-dinkum,
I drink whisky for me breakfast,
Then down the pub to find me spot,
Me legs they sorta' wobble,
And if I spill a single drop,
But then I have some better days,
But it always is surprisin'
So, never knock a bloke like me
© March 22, 2002
~~ 567 ~~~
~~~ Cleanin' Up ~~~
Cleanin up, well bugga' me
Dust and flies get in me eyes
I tell ya' mate I've had enough
© May 17, 2002
Though the poor old souls, been dead for many years.
I'd been sittin' down and readin' Sundee's paper,
And had consumed at least a dozen beers.
What the heck are you still doin' here?"
She said she'd come to give to me a message,
About the sins of drinkin' too much beer.
In buckets, bottles, cans, or at his pub.
And he used to drink, come mornin's, day's and evenin's,
And then, come home drunk de-mandin' flamin' grub."
By takin' up the grog me flamin' self.
And when Grandad saw the way the grog had got me,
He gave up drinkin' for his flamin' health."
Go sober up, become a better man.
And give away ya' boozin' and ya' drinkin',
And toss away those bottles and those cans."
About my sins of drinkin' too much beer.
Then I said, "I still enjoy my cans and bottles,
So Granny get the heck from outa' here."
And make Old Nick become a better man.
'Cos,
I'm sure that God himself, had good intentions,
By makin' beer, in bottles, pubs and cans."
Every body cheered like mad,
But when they stuck a tax on grog
Every one was sad.
So they started making home brew
In their kitchen sinks at home,
Every one from Bullfinch,
From Bangladesh to Rome.
They was making it in bucket fulls,
In bottles cans and glass,
And the told the flamin' gov'ment,
To stick their tax right up their arse.
But the gov'ment they got cranky,
And put on a flamin' blue,
So I'll tell ya mate fair dinkum'
What them bastards they did do.
They put tax upon you tucker,
On ya' coffee and ya' tea,
'Cos them rotten flamin' bastards,
Brug in the GST.
And the day is flamin' comin'
When they'll tax you where you sit,
Then some silly flamin' bastard,
Will tax ya' when ya' shit.
And they'll tax ya' on the air ya' breath,
And the tears that ya' cry,
And they'll tax ya' till you are not game,
To even flamin' die.
So with taxes and that GST,
I can say without no fear,
That we wouldn't have this flamin' mess,
If it wasn't for that beer.
Drinkin' beer is what I mean, and when to flamin' shout.
So I went to have a captain's at the pub just down the road,
And here's what I discovered, at that famous flash abode.
And you have to drink an awful lot, so I have been told.
Ten or twelve good drinkin' mates, of a stout and decent size,
And you have to drink a round or two, till it runs from out ya' eyes.
And then they take it all in turn, just like a drinkin' spree.
And ya' always know whose turn it is, it's like a second sight,
'Cos ya' know darn well this shoutin' stuff, will last into the night.
But not too fast ta' miss ya' mouth, or to make ya' flamin' sick.
Then the second bloke he buys the next, then the pace it tends to slow,
Because, there is so many blokes to buy, and a lot more shouts to go.
Not to fast and not too slow, cos it's not a flamin' race.
And the fourth of course, he fronts the bar, when it is his turn,
'Cos there's somethin' in this shoutin', that everyone should learn.
The last one to complete the shout, is nowhere to be found.
'Cos it seems he has long pockets, or his arms are far too short,
And for some unknown reason, he never does get caught.
But, when he's left out of the shout, you can hear him flamin' cry.
"Com'on boys where is mine, you forgot to shout me one,
Me glass is dry, I need a drink, you haven't brought me none".
So, that bloke who dipped out on his shout, scores another drink.
But, when the next round comes around, and that bloke he does the same,
Then one or two they do their quince, and go right off their brains.
And to hit his kick, just like the rest, and this shout is flamin' his.
But, that bloke he says he's had his fill, and he couldn't drink no more,
And he waves goodbye to all those blokes, as he staggers out the door.
To shout a drink and get none back was a flamin' joke.
So, when your drinkin' with a mob, just buy ya' flamin' own,
'Cos at least that way, you won't miss out, and you'll never have to moan.
That comes from back o' Bourke,
He likes to drink a lot of grog
But he's not too prone to work.
Inside the local pub,
But, his heart is set, he's fell in love
With the girl that cooks the grub.
So the grog don't cloud his brain,
And he'd like to tell her how he feels
With love and sweet refrain.
That, that girl she feels the same,
But she's shy and she's embarrassed
And to tell him she's not game.
When he tried to cut his steak,
His knife was blunt and could not cut
And his fork just seemed to break.
To tell her of his plight,
And the smile she gave just made him melt
Just made his heart take flight.
To come and have a look,
And to see if he was happy
With the way that she did cook.
Whom, sadly now was dead,
And if she'd come and cook for him
He promised they would wed.
And he'd find a job that day,
If she'd come and live and marry him
In that good Australian way.
Come and be his spouse,
And, her culinary arts will do him proud
Inside their humble house.
I love me flamin' grog,
And every day I have'ta take,
The hair, of the flamin' dog.
And rum for mornin'tea
And I knock a dozen king browns off,
By just on half past three.
At the corner of the bar,
'Cos by the time I've had me fill,
I can not move too far.
They can hardly keep me up,
And me hands they shake like flamin' mad,
So I drink from out a cup.
Tears they fill me eyes,
And it's a shockin' thing to see it mate,
A grown man who cries.
When I simply just pass out,
And I always pray it happens just,
Before I have ta' shout.
That, I can find me way back home,
When I am full or just plain drunk,
Or I'm pickled to the bone.
Who loves his flamin' beer,
Cos it's better mate, I'll tell ya' straight
Than bein' flamin' queer.
Was this the way it's 'sposta' be
Well dam me if I really know
But, I'll give the job a flamin' go.
Rakin', sweepin' is that it
By-crickey mate, gives me the shits.
I'm bloody sneezein', no surprise.
Cough and cough, splutter, splutter
Drops me teeth into the gutter.
When I picks 'em up I dragit'
Through a mob of big fat maggots.
Of all this flamin' cleanin' stuff.
So I'm getting out of here
And I'll have a nice cold beer.
I don't care if I get in strife
I'll leave the cleanin' to the wife.