~~ 189 ~~

~~~ Do You Believe or Suppose? ~~~

Do you believe, that snakes live in trees?
Or live on the ground be-low?
Or do they just glide, as they pass by?
Trav-er-ling awfully slow.

Or do you suppose, that snakes, they wear clothes?
Or wriggle around in the nude?
Or do they just swear, and really don't care?
If every one thinks that they're rude.

Or, do you think snakes, are terribly tough?
That's the ones, that, live in the trees;
Waiting for, you and for I, to come walking by,
To bite us, both on the knees.

And the ones on the ground, that don't make a sound,
Which, looks like they've probably been froze;
'Cos, their waiting for us, and with one mighty rush,
They'll bite us, right on the toes.

So, when you are out, and walking about,
With a friend, or you are on your own;
Never take risks, with a snake or his hiss,
In the bush where it's all overgrown.

January 10, 1999

~~ 197 ~~

The Hairy Snake

I was sittin' by me camp fire,
Drinkin' billy tea;
When this dirty great big tiger snake,
Slithered up to me.

Well, I think 'e was a tiger snake,
But to this I can not swear;
Because that flamin' silly coot,
Was covered, with mobs of curly 'air.

He said, "How are ya' cobber,"
I said, "How are ya' snake."
And I couldn't help but laugh out loud,
By gees he took the cake.

He said, "Now hang on cobber,
You have no need to rave;
What about your, whiskered face,
You also need a shave."

"Ya' see my friend I'll tell ya',
What this hair has done to me;
It keeps grown' over me flamin' eyes,
So's I can hardly see."

"So now I'll tell why I'm here,
And I'm glad ya' didn't scream;
'Cos if ya' could old cobber,
Lend me ya' shaving cream."

February 5, 1999

~~ 206 ~~

~~~ What's in a Name? ~~~

I have often wondered,
And I s'pose that you have too;
About that word, Sheila;
What does it mean to you?

Well! To me it means a bonza' sort,
A girl, or lady that's ok;
One that you'd take home to mum,
Any flamin' day.

Or a woman that's good lookin',
That walks past ya' in the street;
Ya' close ya' eyes and fantasize,
Gees What a bonza' treat.

I reckon it's a compliment,
A word that means you are the best;
A bonza' sort, a bottler,
You're better than the rest.

But! How come that some women,
Are insulted by that word;
It is as if ya' swore at 'em,
And you are mongrel or a cur.

They say to you, "A Sheila hey,
Don't call me one of those;
A bird a chick or sum-thin' else
But never one of those".

Lets take a bird, now let me see,
If she's really one of them;
She'd have a beak and feathers,
And regurgitate her phlegm.

She'd have a nest up in a tree,
Under eaves or on the ground;
She have to watch for monsters,
That are lurking all around.

And maybe she's a flamin' chick,
Scratchin' 'round for worms all day;
Locked up inside a chickin' house
That's where she'd have to stay.

She'd soon grow up, get big and fat,
Not know'n that her fate;
Was to lose her head get roasted,
For some-bodie's dinner plate.

So I think me'self that if I was,
A lady, women or a girl;
To be called, a bird or a chick,
Would put me in a twirl.

I'd rather be a called a Sheila,
And a bonza' Sheila at that;
And take it as a compliment,
When a bloke he lifts his hat.

February 19, 1999

~~ 208 ~~

~~~ The Bloke From Yakandanda ~~~

Here is a story I will tell,
Of a bloke from Yakandanda;
He had the biggest mob of geese,
And a massive two tonne gander.
The gander that this bloke did have,
Was six foot tall when standin',
And it would leave a ten foot hole,
When it, came in for a landin'.

February 21, 1999

~~ 209 ~~

~~~ The Bloke's Wife From Yakandanda ~~~

Now, this here bloke from Yakandanda,
He had a wife and couldn't stand her;
She always had too much to say,
He just wished to heck she'd go away.
She couldn't ever bake good bread,
Or keep him happy in their bed,
'Cos she was fat, so huge so big,
So he feed her to his loved staved pig.

February 21, 1999

~~ 218 ~~

~~~ Missus Bourke ~~~

"G'day Missus," 'e ses', "Ya' wouldn't have a bit of work for a man."
I've nothin' to eat for days now, and I've lost me billy can.
And I needs a couple o' bob, so's I can fix me leakin' shoes.
Any work at all missus 'cos, there ain't no jobs that I can't do's."

"Ya' a scruffy lookin' individual", say's the lady, " But! I'll see's if ya's any good.
You's can swing that axe that's round the back, and cut some fire wood.
'Cos the weather's gettin' rather cold these nights and it's time to have a fire.
There's twenty ton of wood out back that can't be cut, go and make me out a lier."

"And when ya' finished cuttin' wood, you's can go's and shoe me 'orse.
There's bits a'steel in the shed and fire, and an anvil there of course.
Make sure the shoes fit nice and snug, and make sure they're nailed tight.
Don't want that mare to throw a shoe, whilst ridin' home one night."

"And when ya' finished doin' that, there's some fencin' to be done.
There's twenty mile of broken fence, and barbed wire to be run.
There's broken gates and strainer posts all needin' to be mended.
Try and get that done by dark, if ya' don't, don't be offended."

"And me tracta's broke, it will not start and the tyres have gone down.
And me flamin' ute give up the ghost so I cannot get to town.
You'll have to pull the engine out and see what can be done.
There's bits and pieces in the shed I'm sure you'll make it run."

"And the roof it leaks and flaps about when it blows and rains.
And the winda's have some broken glass they need new winda' panes.
And the v'randa' needs the floorin' fixed, needs nailin' 'ere and there.
And the drains are blocked with kikuri grass that's growin' everywhere."

"And the veggie gardens full of weeds and the trees need prunin' too.
There's fruit to pick and seed to plant, there's much more you can do.
So come on in and shut the gate and I'll put ya' straight to work.
What is ya' name ya' poor old bloke, mine's is Missus Bourke."

"Well Missus Bourke me name is Tom, I've been on the track for years.
I've done every thing from shearin' sheep to humpin' kegs of beer.
I've worked for squatters musterin' stock, I've even sunk a well.
So Missus Bourke, I ain't no slave, and you can go to hell."

March 26, 1999

~~ 220 ~~

~~~ A Tale of Woe for Toes ~~~

I was skiing up at Thredbo,
On a very fine one day;
When this bonzer sheila,
Came walkin' up my way.

She asked me if I'd teach 'er,
How to ski and slide about;
But I told 'er I was not real good,
'Cos I 'ad the flamin' gout.

She said, "I've seen some skiers,
In me time or two;
But nowhere 'ave I ever seen,
One as good as you."

I said, "Well thank you darlin',
I'd like to 'ave a go;
But the snow 'as gone and bit me,
And, I've lost another toe."

She said, "You silly duffer,
What's ever wrong with you;
Ya' not suppose ta' ski out here,
In the flamin nude."

I said, "Well now ya' tell me,
And I've been skiin' here all day;
No wonder that I 'ave the gout,
And me toes 'ave gone this way."

"I've lost both me flamin' big toes,
And me little ones as well;
No wonder that me ones that's left,
'Ave all began to swell."

She said, "You are a crazy fool,
Com'on, lets get out the cold;
Go on now, put on some clothes,
Then ya' toes', will be as good as gold."

So, I went into the ski lodge,
And put me clobber on;
But I knew that it was all too late,
'Cos all me toes had gone,

I wondered then, just 'ow the heck,
Was I ever to get home;
So I stumble to the ski lodge desk,
To use the telephone.

I shook me 'ead and yelled out loud,
Then cursed me bloomin' luck;
'Cos I 'ad to ring, the R-A-C-Q,
To get a dam toe truck.

So the moral of this story
Is, don't go skiin' in the nude;
'Cos, it is extremely freezing cold,
And extremely bloody rude.

June 14, 1999

~~ 224 ~~

~~~ Number "4" ~~~

Have ya' had the great misfortune,
To be stuck out in the scrub,
Without a bloody barby plate,
To cook ya' flamin' grub.

And ya' didn't know just what to do,
But scratch ya' flamin' head,
Then ya' suddenly remember,
What ya' old grandfather said.

"When ya' campin' in the bush", He said,
"And ya' wanna' cook a feed,
Just go and get ya' shovel,
'Cos that's all ya' flamin' need."

So, if ya' need to cook ya' tucker,
And you've steaks and chops galore,
And ya' aven't got a barby plate,
Just grab a number "4".

August 6, 1999

~~ 228 ~~

~~~ Billy-tea ~~~

"Billy-tea! What's in a name?" She cried,
"Billy-tea by any other name still taste's the same,"
She sighed, and cried, "Billy-tea, ain't all the same, what a shame!
Billy-tea, what of Billy-tea," She said and banged 'er 'ead,
And then she, let out a sigh, and cried,
"It is plain, a cryin' shame, to taint that name,
I can't describe the pride, I have beatin' 'ere inside,
Without me Billy-tea at my side to drink, what would ya' think,"
So she yells, "I 'ave the world to tell,
About them brands, that they shove in ya' 'and,
Some of them's is no good, just plain bits of wood,
And the colour, by crikey, it's just a pale shade of yella."

"What's in a name?" She says,
"All teas ain't the same to me," She says,
She sighs and with another sigh she cries,
"The only tea for me will ever be,
Is the kind of tea, what makes good Billy-tea,
And it's grand to 'old that tea, inside your 'and,
And watch it fall and sink in to that Billy-can,
My Billy-can, what brews a tea like, no other Billy can."

She sighs, then lets fly, with a string of words I've never 'erd,
As if, I was just a dill, so I've 'ad me fill-
Of 'er strange desires, that sets 'er 'art on fire,
Bah! Billy-cans and Billy-tea, what good is she.

If I was to say, or was to use, all those strange words she used,
She'd go crook, like a bloke that's gone fishin', and forgot 'is 'ook,
She says, it's good to be with me and share 'er Billy-tea,
But! If I were to complain, what a pain.
The tea she makes is strong and black and thick,
Just the kind, that's leaves ya' feelin' sick,
And if ya' moans, she gives out a groan,
And hits ya' cross the 'ead with 'arf a brick.

I'd just wish she'd leave, that Billy-tea alone,
And make tea proper, like others do at 'ome,
But I knows darn too well, and I's can tell-
She'd boot me out and leave me on me own.
But, I guess if that's to be, I could 'andle bein' free,
Then, I'd 'ave and she'd 'ave, no reason then to moan,
So, I should pack me bag and leave that awful hag,
I'll put me swag upon me back, and hit that flamin' track,
And live a life of freedom on me own.

August 13, 1999

~~ 229 ~~

~~~ I Wanna' Learn to Dive the Car ~~~

"I wanna' learn to drive the car," she says ta' me one day,
I says to 'er, "No flamin' fear, you'll turn me hair to grey.
'Cos wimin' they ain't got the brains, or, know's just what to do,
So, get that idea right out ya' 'ead, before we 'ave a blue."

She says, "Ya've kept me off the flamin' road, for far to flamin' long,
So, ya' better teach me 'ow ta' drive, or tomorra' I'll be gone."
I scratched me 'ead and thought a bit, and said, "Well now let me see,"
I thought some-more and said, "Ok, 'cos, if ya' left who'd cook me tea?"

And I'd 'ave nothin' in the 'ouse to eat, I'd be in bloomin' strife,
We've been forty years together, so, I'd surely miss the wife.
No one to do me washin', or sweep the floors and make the bed,
And, no one to cook me Sunday roast, I may as well be dead.
It's pretty crook, when a bloke is held, to ransom from his spouse,
And, if I don't behave meself, she'll stop cleanin' up the 'ouse.
And cut me off, from you know what, and tip out me flamin' grog,
And make's me sleep out in the shed, just like a flamin' dog.

But! Forty years is far to long, for a bloke to 'old 'is breath,
'Cos that old bag has nagged and nagged and yelled me 'alf to death.
She's never ever satisfied; she moans and moans all day,
I'd like to see 'er pack 'er bags and get goin' on 'er way.

Then I'd never get me ears bashed, about the grog I drink,
And she'd never stick 'er sticky-beak, in what I bloody think.
And I'd never 'ear 'er nag again, or scream and bloody yell,
So I'll leave me car where it belongs, and she can go to 'ell.

August 14, 1999