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The Team.   

Here we are in Gayndah town, 
The parks are all filled up. 
With Caravans and Motor homes,
‘N’ Backpackers trying their luck.

The pickers are around the trees,
And filling Gaypak bins.
As cold and frosty as you please,
They’re picking Mandarins.

When the fruit arrives at Gaypak,
With the staff all ready and able.
The Mandarins are washed and waxed,
And rolled across the sorting table.

This is what to look for,
Sharon tells them one by one.
The number of bins is thirty four,
It’s an average sort of run.

Black Spot, Splits and Sunburn, 
Hail damage and Sooty Mould,
Juice the stuff that’s too deformed,
Or whatever can’t be sold.

Karen’s on the packing floor,
From there she runs the show.
She’s the boss and that’s for sure,
So don’t upset the flow.

Aunty Pat she is there, 
As Karens’   Two I C.
She checks that all is run to plan,
Without her where’d they be.

The pattern packers work away,
Under the watchful eye.
Of Sharon ‘n’ Gayle in the day,
And Elaine and Linda at night.

The forklift drivers as we know,
Work with skill and speed.
Up and down, to and fro,
Always they are in need.

 At Gaypak they’re a cheerful lot,
They talk and laugh and joke.
Even when it’s bloody hot,
But they are conscientious folk.

When knock-off time comes around.
There’s one who wont be late.
Speedy Gwenda will be found,
To be the first one out the gate.

Afternoon shift takes the reins,
They carry on the work.
Without a break they step right in,
The fruit, they’re here to sort.

We can praise the workers all we want,
And praise the management too.
But nothing works and nothing moves, 
Without the maintenance  crew .

All in all this is the team,
Of which they can be proud.
That sorts and packs, and sends,
The fruit, all around the world.
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