Migrating Blowflies

‘Davo’ rang me up, ‘bout a month ago, To travel with him on a trip, Way up north to Glenora station, So he can search through Harry’s tip. ‘Davo’ you see has a hobby, Collecting bottles, some worth more than gold, And he reckons the tip at Glenora, Would be more than a hundred years old. When we reached the station at sunset, The ‘kero’ lights started to glow, And I met the family of Harry, Before the conversing did flow, ‘Davo’ caught up on old Harry’s news, Harry spoke of power coming through, And I found out later that tea, Was the leg of a young kangaroo. Next morning ‘Davo’ spoke to Harry, Of directions to get to the tip, And Harry said, “Go after lunch, ‘Cause it’s only a very short trip. Sit down and I’ll make you a ‘cuppa’ To eat with these scones the wife made”. But the roo, then the scones and the water, Had created a different charade. Now Harry still lives in the past, Without habits like our modern day, For he still does his eating inside, And his throne is out of the way. And just now I’m looking for Harry’s, From out of his kitchen window, I spied it behind an old wattle tree, Then I mentioned ‘I had to go’. I sort of half ran to the dunny, And when reaching it way down the back, I expected some pleasure and comfort, ‘Til I pushed on the door of the shack, Where ‘crikey’ the place was abuzz, With ‘blowies’ as thick as can be, I reckon there must be a million, All wanting a feed out of me. I retreated the best that I could, From the hordes I disturbed in the shack, And then I mentioned to Harry, ‘Bout the ‘blowies’ he’s got down the back, So I asked for a tin of mortein, To kill off them ‘blowies’ in there, But Harry took this as a joke… It’s unhygienic, but he didn’t care. He just looked at the clock on the wall, “Do yer reckon yer can wait fer ten, Then yer sure to get peace down the back, When yer go fer that visit again”. Well of course old Harry confused me, With that seemingly outback ‘take’. So I said with a grin to Harry, “What difference will ten minutes make?” Harry took a drag on his ‘***’, And blew his smoke into the air, Then said “Well in ten minutes time, There won’t be a blowie down there, ‘Cause it’ll be past twelve o’clock, And the wife’ll be cooking again, So all the blowies from down there, Should be up in the kitchen by then”.