The Ballad of Stinking Mick
The Ballad of Stinking Mick
Now Mick hung close to a Butt verbose,
And the cheese it ran like treacle,
Some said it was on the bloody nose,
That he lived, was thought unbelievable,
For he was a hairy Wombat Louse,
Hitchhiking on a vehicle,
He tried sucking up to a Mouse,
got dislodged by a Gay Boll Weevil,
There came a blast, hot and sticky cast,
Aroma, most unpleasant,
With bowel movement, he was passed,
Hot an steamy, flavoured, masked?
Mick thought it effervescent,
He’d spring and slide upon the tide,
His gumboots trickled full, (Kiwi slippers)
On a passing Rat he snagged a ride,
High speed, for a Wombat Louse,
I aint being snide, no bloody Bull,
On a Tom-Tit sure he’d been before,
The Wren had flown him high,
Caught by a Cat, he did attack,
with some ten thousands more,
Puddy left with an open jaw,
Thought and pondered bloody sure,
Perplexed with thoughts of why?
The food was flapping high,
The itch stuck in his craw?
Poor puddy bloody paw,
Was reduced to sigh
Should I this underscore,
apply?
This part I will deny,
No lice no bloody moer….( new aussie slang)
Don Johnson
Copyright © Don Johnson | Year Posted 2013
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