Rossi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deathpixie) wrote2004-07-01 07:13 pm
deathpixie) wrote2004-07-01 07:13 pm
I meant to post this last night...
But, as some of you may know, LJ was being attacked by idiots. :P
Any way, care of my Dad, who forwarded it to me, a poem in the style of the old bush poets:
"The Prime Minister's Arse is on Fire".
It started small, who knows how, at first the faintest whiff
a tiny spark, a trickle of smoke, anyone could miss
but now it's getting obvious, the flames are rising higher
someone ought to tell him, the prime minister's arse is on fire!
Perhaps it was some flatulence that met a lit cigar
in a tryst with Billy Heffernan in his chauffeured car
or maybe set by Hollingworth, Woolridge, Ruddock, Reith
in an accidental oversight on which he wasn't briefed
Yet though his arse is blazing bright he boldly still denies:
"my arse has never been nor ever will be on fire
it's a scurrilous media beat-up, the rumour mill is passin'
I deny any knowledge of this so called act of arson."
But the fire alarms are clanging in the corridors of power
as senators and ministers duck and dive and cower
with sprinklers flooding parliament and flames throughout the land
it's plain to see as dog's balls the fire's out of hand
It spread from Kirribilli all the way to Christmas Isle
gutted Yarralumla and left a smoking pile
it licked about the High Court, engulfed the Speaker's Chair
and burnt its way to Woomera through Janet's underwear
The PM called a conference to repeat his denial:
"the advice that I've been given is my arse is not on fire."
Hosing allegations down that the truth was scuttled
he turned to the Press Corps and presented his rebuttal
Whoof! a massive fireball napalmed all in sight
the smoke was spewing black and thick, the flames lit up the night
Parliament House imploded like a melting wedding cake
as screaming hacks fled in flames and sought the nearest Lake
"Crimson Christ!' cried Laurie Oakes, "the worst scenario
the flames have reached his eyebrows and they're about to blow.
The things are bloody tinderboxes, thick and dry and fell
there's fuel enough in Howard's brows to feed the fires of Hell!"
Alas, too late - his brows went up, like Hiroshima suns
a firestorm engulfed the land consuming everyone
a stinking, twisted vista of smoking charred remains
'twas all was left from coast to coast, from mountains to the plains
And as Australia slowly sank, still clinging to the mast
was Johnny Howard grinning hard as the waters cooled his arse.
"At last the country's unified, free from foul attacks
at last I'm finally feeling comfortable and relaxed."
And lest the world forget that we didn't die in vain
this epitaph recalls our tawdry tattered land of shame:
"It's an addage old as buggery that where there's smoke there's fire
but just as old is one that goes where there's votes there's liars."
Tug Dumbly
It's funny 'cause it is.
Any way, care of my Dad, who forwarded it to me, a poem in the style of the old bush poets:
"The Prime Minister's Arse is on Fire".
It started small, who knows how, at first the faintest whiff
a tiny spark, a trickle of smoke, anyone could miss
but now it's getting obvious, the flames are rising higher
someone ought to tell him, the prime minister's arse is on fire!
Perhaps it was some flatulence that met a lit cigar
in a tryst with Billy Heffernan in his chauffeured car
or maybe set by Hollingworth, Woolridge, Ruddock, Reith
in an accidental oversight on which he wasn't briefed
Yet though his arse is blazing bright he boldly still denies:
"my arse has never been nor ever will be on fire
it's a scurrilous media beat-up, the rumour mill is passin'
I deny any knowledge of this so called act of arson."
But the fire alarms are clanging in the corridors of power
as senators and ministers duck and dive and cower
with sprinklers flooding parliament and flames throughout the land
it's plain to see as dog's balls the fire's out of hand
It spread from Kirribilli all the way to Christmas Isle
gutted Yarralumla and left a smoking pile
it licked about the High Court, engulfed the Speaker's Chair
and burnt its way to Woomera through Janet's underwear
The PM called a conference to repeat his denial:
"the advice that I've been given is my arse is not on fire."
Hosing allegations down that the truth was scuttled
he turned to the Press Corps and presented his rebuttal
Whoof! a massive fireball napalmed all in sight
the smoke was spewing black and thick, the flames lit up the night
Parliament House imploded like a melting wedding cake
as screaming hacks fled in flames and sought the nearest Lake
"Crimson Christ!' cried Laurie Oakes, "the worst scenario
the flames have reached his eyebrows and they're about to blow.
The things are bloody tinderboxes, thick and dry and fell
there's fuel enough in Howard's brows to feed the fires of Hell!"
Alas, too late - his brows went up, like Hiroshima suns
a firestorm engulfed the land consuming everyone
a stinking, twisted vista of smoking charred remains
'twas all was left from coast to coast, from mountains to the plains
And as Australia slowly sank, still clinging to the mast
was Johnny Howard grinning hard as the waters cooled his arse.
"At last the country's unified, free from foul attacks
at last I'm finally feeling comfortable and relaxed."
And lest the world forget that we didn't die in vain
this epitaph recalls our tawdry tattered land of shame:
"It's an addage old as buggery that where there's smoke there's fire
but just as old is one that goes where there's votes there's liars."
Tug Dumbly
It's funny 'cause it is.