Gday From Straya

G’day from ‘Straya, from down under the hot. G’day from the land of the dry. From the place where you’ll learn to kick a ball straight, Straight through the posts in the sky. And you’ll pick up a bat and play for five days And still not finish the game, And everyone in town will know you by some Ridiculously inappropriate nickname. G’day from the land where the trees sag with heat, Where life slows down in the scrub, And after each day of working the land, Everyone meets up down at the pub. And propagandized rhetoric from a foreign extreme Is revealed as a tantrum of air, G’day from ‘Straya where we look out for each other, Where we all receive free honest healthcare.