SELF HELP

The storm has blown the roof apart, the power lines are down,
there’s trees across the roadway everywhere.
The river’s rising very fast, evacuate the town
the call goes out and S.E.S. is there.

A trench collapse, a man is trapped, he’ll have to be dug out.
An accident has left an awful mess.
A petrol tanker’s overturned, there’s some explosive doubt
support’s required, call the S.E.S.

The fire has cut the major road, the other way’s a track.
That wind could swing and many would not know.
A warning must be given of it’s probable attack
the volunteers of S.E.S. will go.

These are some examples of the work our members do.
Communities and Councils, give some thought
the volunteers in S.E.S. give up their time for you,
but cannot help without return support.

NOT MY KIND OF MUSIC

three coins in the fountain

My radio station doesn’t blast my ears to death,
and my radio station doesn’t leave me short of breath.
My son has his wireless turned full up and blasting out.
Even though it’s a small one, for sanity I have to shout
Turn it down, turn it down, turn it down.

My radio station plays the music that I like
and the station announcer doesn’t yell into the mic.
I can’t stand his station, plastic music, pressure fed.
Providing mine’s left where I put it, I can absorb what’s being said.
Pleasant sound, all around, can be found.

My stereo set up has four speakers for good tone
and when I set the controls up, then I leave the thing alone.
My son gets home early, finds his station, volume high.
He says it helps him to study, damned if I can figure why.
Every word, either slurred, or it’s blurred.

I wish he would leave it how I left it, it’s my set.
I prefer nice peaceful music, often that’s not what I get.
I’ve thought of an answer, solves both problems in one go
I’ll go and buy my own Walkman, he can have the stereo.
Very fine, by design, keep it mine.

NOT TILL MONDAY

my old man’s a dustman

I tried to get a plumber late on Saturday last week
but when I dialled the number all I got was record speak.
“Please leave your name and number, thank you, when you hear the beep”.
I cursed the plumber, and his toy, for copping out so cheap.

We don’t have mains hot water, we’re not on the sewer yet
and when the septic chucked it, not one plumber could I get.
I figured that the pump stopped, ‘cos the inlet pipe was blocked,
which I did say to one plumber, and his answer left me shocked.

“You’ll need an electrician, disconnect the power, mate.
I’ll do it, if you get one, but I won’t sit here and wait”.
I checked the Yellow Pages, like the ads suggest we do
but the sparkies didn’t answer, just machines at one or two.

I had a go at fixing up the pump, but got no luck.
Without a sparks or plumber, both the pump and I were stuck.
I was out of luck till Monday, till one company came through
one phone call, they delivered and set up a Porta Loo.

RIP OFF

Public transport’s useless if you live on new estates;
private cars are vital, despite their costs and rates.
Service station owners take advantage of this,
and women are the losers   “We fixed your car up, Miss.

The left hand grommet’s broken, but we fixed it up like new.
Your oil was globulated, and the skunge was getting through.
We replaced an ergolator, both the gringes and a munn,
and we filled your tank with petrol, so everything is done.

Your bill is eighty seven.  Is it Bank card, cash or cheque?”
And women aren’t mechanics, so they drive away their wreck.
But this situation’s common.  Like an iceberg with the tip off
the rest is underwater, and unseen, just like the rip off.

NON AUSTRALIANS

click go the shears

Out on the road in a new Volvo car
or buying up the houses where the top prices are,
coming to this country as a broken refugee,
only two years later they’re out living you and me.

CH: How do they do it, must be a trick,
can’t be all honest if they get rich so quick.
They get compensated when they land on our shore.
We’re discriminated, it will happen more and more.

Buy up one house then they buy up a street,
helped pay with taxes from Australians, that’s neat.
Develop a ghetto till the locals have gone,
then bring out the family a little later on.

Go on the dole, it’s a very easy game.
Need another dole cheque? Use another name.
World’s best conditions, and lurks hard to beat,
non Australians multiply and really cop it sweet.

Don’t want to learn ways and rules of our land,
but how to work the Government they really understand.
Old country habits making New country lurks
beggars being choosers for a non Australian works.

ROAD TOLL

The seatbelt legislation is a means of saving lives but they only make you safer if you wear them.
The thoughtless clearway parker keeps on blocking up the roads – we all pay registration and should share them.

Some try overtaking when it really isn’t safe to, others try bad corners in a hurry.
The Give way sign is useless and they just ignore the Stop, and cut another off without a worry.

A wet change in the weather doesn’t make them drop their speed.  Break down trucks haunt cross roads just to tow them.
The Courts are toothless tigers for the Magistrates are weak, and the penalties are far too light to slow them.

The radar and the puff bag are a slightly bigger problem, the speed freaks go and buy a radar cheater,
and others fit big tyres just because it’s all the rage but won’t pay for a rear window heater.

The ambulance is speedy and will soon remove the injured; locals know the nasty intersection
yet the road toll will continue as a thoughtless game of chance, and following the law is slight protection.

Projections for the future do not show a great improvement if the drivers and their cars become much thicker.
If penalties were tougher and the licence tests were likewise the road toll would reduce itself much quicker.

Insurance is one factor in this multi facet problem, we cannot blame the costs for upward moving .
Accidents and maiming are not always “someone else”  does how YOU drive need radical improving?

SEXUAL HARASSMENT

marching through georgia

CH: We all have rights of freedom in our choice.
We all have thoughts on issues we should voice.
The world would be a better place and women would rejoice
on being rid of sexual harassment.

Women in the work force should be able to complain
of sexual harassment by another for his gain.
Approach by some is subtle, and by others blunt and plain,
and most women can’t do much about it.

The reason why a woman works does not concern a slob.
Essentially, she’s captive, if she wants to keep her job.
Rejecting all advances, she’ll be called a stuck up snob,
or else she’s a butch, or surely frigid.

Certain jobs require a woman’s dressing very well.
If it’s flaunting or it’s fashion can be very hard to tell.
Many women are afraid to say, “You go to hell,
I work here, but I’m a private person.”

Sexual harassment women should not tolerate
or males in her workplace treating her as second rate.
Women should be heard to say, before it gets too late,
“I run my life, you’re not included.”

SPORT VIOLENCE

sink the bismarck

A rugby player’s broken nose,or split and bleeding head
is much the same as Aussie rules, but there it’s knees instead.
In hockey it’s the ankles, in soccer it’s the shins.
At squash the racquet gets you, and the opposition wins.

In basketball, an elbow to the shoulder, neck or back
but at least the fans and referee are safe from like attack.
Go and watch the soccer, and often there’s a blue
depends on who you’re cheering whether you get mixed in too.

Bowlers in the cricket figure batsmen are fair game.
It’s getting so that sportsmanship is just a token name.
And not too long back “winning isn’t everything” was taught
now we’ve Governmental sanctions, and we’ve violence, in sport.

ASPRO

sweet violets

He’s tall and he’s thin just like six feet of rope.
His name should be Aspro, a slow kind of
person who is trying to keep himself fit
by pushing a biro and shovelling

letters in envelopes, and the mail box
and walking up stairs which because of his
bad back becomes for him very hard work
so every so often he stops for a

breather and when he has got his breath back
he curses the person who gave him the
mail to deliver, but onward he goes
dragging his feet and picking his

way very carefully without a map,
does what he has to, avoiding the
pitfalls which come as a part of the job
and telling himself he’s not really a

Sweet Violet, sweeter than the roses,
covered all over from head to toe,
covered all over in sweet violets.

SUBURBAN DRAG

north to alaska

The local street is quiet, and level, smooth and wide
and just too much temptation for the hoon boys as they ride,
or flog their V8 Falcons through the curve and past my place
with loud exhausts and peak revs and tyre squeal they race.

CH:
I have thought of using a wire across the road
to help relieve the dragger of some un needed load.
That way, he’d go faster, so his ego would be fed.
The load that I’d remove would be his useless bloody head.

A turkey on a two stroke tries a drag start up my street.
I hope like hell the Garbo truck and the dragger squarely meet,
and the pair of little drop kicks riding two up round the block
just watch the turkey’s endo, and are traumatised by shock.

Some jerk in a Holden, fat tyres and P plates
accompanied by girl friend and a carload full of mates
came around the curve too quickly, and he smashed an alloy rim
when the back end slid out wrongly, and the kerbing finished him.

On Saturday night, if there’s a party somewhere near
then early Sunday morning, hear the dragsters reappear.
But I know how to fix them, there’ll be no dragging when
we get the black top dug up, and the pot holes back again.

THAT WAS THEN, THIS IS NOW

botany bay

I’ve just watched a programme on “Banjo”, whom early Australians adored.
As far back as I can remember, his poems have triggered a chord.
I”m Australian, the same as A.B. was, with a talent to give what it takes.
There are hundreds of others just like me, but try as we might, there’s no breaks.

Photographers, poets, musicians, inventors and sportsmen and I
and the one thing we all have in common   the world will not see us go by.
No Government grant, nor a sponsor, or publisher unknown will back.
Potential and effort go begging, from sad and unfortunate lack.

For a chance to succeed here, the best way is to go overseas to get known
and when you’re successful and come back, you’re famous as “one of our own”.
Now it’s rare that a man is a prophet whilst in his own country, it’s said,
which leads to encouraging brain drain, till talent, like Banjo, is dead.

THE PASSENGER’S LAMENT

coming round the mountain

She’ll be here in seven minutes if she comes,
if the A.R.U. aren’t sitting on their bums.
She’ll be sitting on the rails
whilst the air is full of wails
and the passengers are twiddling their thumbs.

The Minister says service has improved.
If that’s the case, then why haven’t we moved?
And the views around this station
just don’t fill me with elation,
and the hard seats make me think my bum is grooved.

They are putting double tracks to Lilydale,
when they can’t run right to time along one rail,
and six minutes either way is
unacceptable to payers
put the Minister and railways up for sale.

V Line and MetRail are just the same.
There’s no improvement with a change of name.
You can hear the gleeful holler
as the printer makes a dollar
printing tickets for the multi guessing game.

The T.T.A. should sell a ju ju doll
in the likeness of the Minister, how droll.
Then for lateness of a minute
you could stick two more pins in it
and a hundred thousand pins might take their toll.

VICTIMS

overlander trail

I bought my stereo because it sounded good.
I bought my car because it handles like it should.
They’re my possessions, and I like them fine,
so just to be sure that I keep them mine
I had a very good alarm installed and now
if someone sets it off it makes an awful row.
To make it harder for a thief cost heaps
but what I have I want to stay as mine for keeps.

The fellow up the street two houses has been done
so he has bought a German Shepherd and a gun.
Some rotten mongrels jemmied his back door.
It’s his wife and kids that I feel sorry for
because they’re frightened victims of a growing crime.
They can’t keep watch on their possessions all the time.
To make it harder almost needs a vault
though in a lot of cases it may be their own damn fault.

Catch 22 is here, Police have lost their bite
without the money or the numbers for the fight.
Sex crimes and violence, assaults can drop.
Robberies and drugs, insurance hikes will stop
when people realise that that what the victims lack
just like Police, are stronger laws for biting back.
Laws require that criminals be treated fair
but better laws might give the victims back a share.

COOL

The keys on every typewriter have markings on them clear
and users who aren’t expert must rely
on looking at the keyboard so they make the least mistakes,
but Typing School machines do not comply.

A Supervisor, working late, found typists had all gone
but needed typing done, which couldn’t wait
so took his rough draft with him over to the typing room
but found a group of students, staying late.

They were typing with abandon, as he walked to a machine.
Their fingers moved across the boards with ease.
He fed the sheet of paper, then his heart sank to his boots
there weren’t any figures on the keys.

An embarrassing position, but at least they couldn’t see,
so with random keys, he filled his paper in.
With studied ease he stood up, took his work and left the room,
then screwed it up and tossed it in a bin.

The situation needed cool, and instant front, to work,
as Supervisors mustn’t seem to fall.
He pulled it off quite neatly.   Now his work goes to the pool.
They do it, or it isn’t done at all.

DEAR NORM

tavern in the town

The members of the A.W.U. are sending this letter, Norm, to you.
We hope they can find you, we know you’re in the heap, the only thing that varies is how deep.
You’re tending to act just like a clown, you know you’ll never rule this town.
Your standover tactics and freebies soon will end, and they’ll tighten regulations which you bend.

There’s far more involved here than you know, surviving needs more than just ego.
We’re not the only ones who know that God you’re not, you’re just the mouthpiece for the rot.
Kickbacks and slings are nothing new, refined to a form of art by you.
No one survives in a business run by force, and you’ve steered the union on that course.

We’re none of us perfect, brother Norm, and you’re running bent and true to form.
Your arrogant behaviour’s put the union way off side, and shown that you’ve many things to hide.
Unions were invented so their men could improve their work conditions, Norm, but then
you’ve proven often that your one intended form is totally designed to better Norm.

DISCRIMINATION

bull and bush

I’m sick and tired of the anti smoke ads which I see on TV,
they’re harassing me.
Just like the Greenies, they’re vocal but this time they’re aiming at me.
Now I’m discriminated, because I smoke a cigarette
and I’m aggravated, here’s why
We’re barred from smoking, by intolerance, all other smokers and I.

I don’t drive my car after I’ve been drinking  booze anywhere,
get a taxi home.
Too many accidents happen and grog causes much of the share.
But I’m discriminated because I like to smoke my pipe,
and I’m irritated, here’s why
Smokes don’t help to build the road toll up, all other smokers and I.

If I choose to smoke cigarettes, knowing the risks when I do,
the decision’s mine.
They don’t make me get aggro or stupid, like most booze will do.
Now I’m discriminated, although I only hurt myself,
and I’m irritated, here’s why
I don’t complain about your alcohol, all other smokers and I.

If you don’t drink or smoke, then good luck to you, that’s fine by me,
you’re not hit by tax.
I’ll bet that something you like, there’ll be someone who must disagree.
Then you’re discriminated, because of what you do or say,
and we’ll be quite elated, here’s why
you’ll wish that people were more tolerant, like other smokers and I.

GARRET, PETER GARRETT

davy crockett

Ch:  Garrett, Peter Garrett
Saving our wild frontier.

Born as a greeny in Australian scrub
Best friend a bilby and a witchetty grub
Knew that those logging trucks meant all-out war
Saved him a tree when he was only four.

First came to notice with his huge bald head
Singing with a rock band as though it gave him cred
Getting heard on radio was only just the start
Then changing occupation showed he’s not that smart.

Saving land and whales and frogs, every blessed tree
Became a politician to support the ALP
Got made their spokesman for envi-ron-ment
Made a lot of boo-boos, got his meanings bent.

Loved by the media because he’d put
His leg in his mouth to help support his foot
TV lights reflected off that huge bald head
KRudd had to tell him he’d run right out of cred.

Born as a greeny doesn’t mean a thing
And cred doesn’t happen just because you sing
A lot of ranting will not fix envi-ron-ment
The road to hell is paved by folks with good intent.

 

 

GREENIES

coming round the mountain

TV stations love the Greenie crews
‘cos they know that there’ll be hassle, and that’s news.
They’ve got lots of money backing, and their tongues are always clacking.
If you disagree, you’ll often cop abuse.

“Save Australia for our children”, hear them say,
quite forgetting of the people of today.
Their emotional battle is to get rid of the cattle,
but the Mountain Men are standing in the way.

“Recreation in the Alpine land is out
all regardless of the users”, hear them shout.
They forget that grasses growing help to keep the fires going,
and that undergrowth keeps fire fighters out.

I agree with some protection for this place
but not if I am cut back in my space
by the rubbish bin and dunny and the parking lots, from money
I was taxed to help the Greenies with their case.

It makes sense to save the bush for those to come
but the people who now use it aren’t dumb,
and the most of them are caring, they can see the gain in sharing
unlike narrow minded interests of some.

I’d like my kids to see the bush first hand
and I’ll do it in my own way, as I planned.
Politics and legislation for the Greenies of this nation
must not stop the way that I enjoy my land.

So it’s time that quiet folk like you and me
told the Government and Greenies  disagree…
that they’ll have a bloody battle moving all of us and cattle
we’re committed that the mountain land stay free.

JUNK MAIL

detour

Junk Mail, filling up my letterbox
For Sale, houses, farms and building blocks
Retail, carpet, food, digital clocks,
Never read that damn junk mail.

Junk Mail, from the local hardware store
For Sale, clean the carpet on the floor
Retail, Myers wider choice and more
Not much use, that damn junk mail

Junk Mail, from the Post Office to me
For Sale, or by kids delivery
Retail, giving ten percent for free
They should ban that damn junk mail.

Junk Mail, blocking up the letter slot
For Sale, postie doesn’t help a lot
Retail, think the whole damn thing’s a plot
to make me read that damn junk mail

Junk Mail, leaves my Herald in the rain
For Sale, make a sign that reads quite plain
Retail, so it won’t be left again
DO NOT LEAVE YOUR DAMN JUNK MAIL.

LOOK BIKE

chasing sheilas

I’ve been a motorcyclist for nearly thirty years.
It’s survival of the fittest, and I don’t mix bikes and beers.
Reflexes and instinct and experience provide
the greatest safety margin on my Beemer when I ride.

My bike’s in  mint condition, it has to be because
abilities of drivers is poorer than it was
when I first started riding, and drivers were polite.
Now I pity Learners; drivers even give me fright.

I think that most car drivers do not give a damn for bikes.
Being safe inside a tin can, he does just as he likes.
She’ll come out from a Stop sign, he’ll force you off the lane.
She’ll right turn when you’re head on, and cause a world of pain.

Some get really aggro when they’re in a traffic queue,
and every bike goes past them as they sit and wait and stew.
Others have to beat you in the traffic light drag race.
She’ll brake in every corner, he’ll crowd your safety space.

When the weather’s lousy many drivers cannot see,
so riding gets more risky as she might miss seeing me.
They forget to use their mirrors, and refuse to dip their lights,
don’t look and jam their brakes on, lousy driving causing frights.

There is a good solution which might get our point across.
Before a tin can driver gets approved as his own boss
some time spent as a rider learning how to stay alive
might help improve their attitude to riders when they drive.

MICHELIN LADY

clementine

In her tracksuit, or her Levi’s, or a heavy canvas sack,
you can see she’s overflowing – she has dimples on her back.
There are chafe marks on the inside, where her jeans are overtight,
and the zipper’s missing teeth, it’s given up the pressure fight.

It’s a battle, buying knickers that won’t show up when she moves,
but she really needn’t bother, she’s got eighteen other grooves.
From her chin to where her hips were, cross her thighs and to her toes,
corrugations down her profile only ripple as she goes.

When I see her heading my way, I get soft and do a flit.
Seven tyres down a rib cage doesn’t turn me on a bit.
Playing footsies with a wrinkle which is lost in all that fat
is a bad way to get my breakfast.  I would rather starve than that.

NEGA TEEV

I can’t be bothered watching TV News
although the News is interesting to me.
The problem is that different Union views
and traffic deaths and strikes are what I see.

If it’s not the Sunday Trader going down
or another Travel  Agent shooting through,
or moron vandals damaging some town,
some politician’s changed his point of view.

A minute later someone’s being shot
or getting acid thrown into his eyes.
The Labour Party spokesman’s getting hot
about some allegation he denies.

The V.F.L.’s concerned that Clubs are broke
or stupid Jackson fronts the Bench again.
The prices paid for players are a joke,
or Western Districts needs an inch of rain.

The forecast is tomorrow will be dry
and weekend weather looks to be the same.
Still, most of those are much worse off than I
negateeves have briefly brought them fame…….

THE FARMER’S VIEW

waltzing matilda

ch:
I’ll shoot the cockies, I’ll poison rabbits,
I’ll knock off the kangaroos that eat my cattle feed.
No one’s gonna tell me how to run my property.
Interfering greenies, here’s a message you should heed.

Greenies never ask me what’s the truth on kangaroos,
wombats and emus and bloody tourist feet,
subsidies and bushfires, stinking droughts and flooding rains,
wax in my diesel fuel and cockies in my wheat.

Greenies never think about working seven days a week
rising with the sun, working long into the night.
What I’ve got is mortgaged, all my dough goes to the bank.
I’ve worked for what I’ve got, and I’ll keep up the fight.

Ploughing, planting, harvesting, to sell or feed my animals,
I spend the dollars on machines to do the job.
The seed is hardly planted when galahs or cockatoos arrive
and half my seed is eaten by the thousands in a mob.

After I get rid of them, and think I’ve got an even chance,
that’s if it doesn’t flood, or burn or bloody drought,
the green has just begun to show, and then the kangaroos appear
with rabbits, birds and emus helping eat my paddocks out.

I’m prepared to cop the odds, I can fix my problems up.
Greenies are a hassle and the bulk don’t have a clue.
They don’t see the damages, and fewer want to know the truth
about their pretty cocky and their furry kangaroo.

There’s many million cockatoos, and double that in kangaroos.
I reckon greenies should be made to count the lot.
Then they’d see that culling them would hardly even change the count
‘cos they’re breeding faster than the numbers can be shot.