Fake News
It’s not all about you
Because I can see, hear and preach it too
I can fake it just as well
To tell the stories others tell
Lies or truth well where’s the proof
Cause I can lie just as well as you
So go away with your fake news
Before I kick you into yesterday’s news
DAMO
Asset rich and cash poor
Farming’s now a constant war
Stupid rules; I’ve had enough
It’s getting hard and bloody rough.
More rules and forms come everyday
A thousand bastards want their say!
Some greenie wants to save my trees
Another thinks I’m killing bees.
Needs records now for spreading fert
Fence creeks and streams, yes every squirt.
Fluoro signs for all the dangers
Map some nature, for DOC rangers.
Give Queens chain access to the water
Whoops! Electric fence just zapped your daughter
Should I try and stop the sun
Would hate a “guest” to burn his bum.
Need consent now to change your view
SAFE cries foul on baa-ing ewes.
Should I read to stock at night?
Not too scary. Can’t cause them fright.
Drought.
Decision made. Poor stock to sale
Yay! Some do good bastard threatened jail.
Everyone is taking aim
Shall I hang my head in shame?
Got some weeds, must get them gone
So I spray them. I’m still wrong!
On a quad? Well protect your noggin’
I suppose next they'll want a public floggin’
Give me space to do my job
Right, sod off now and shut your gob.
* Department of Conservation
** The equivalent of PETA
A One Eyed Golpher In A Cactus Patch
He travels beneath the sod off the spiral scene
Feeling a bit frantic from the chase he gasps for air
Only to shed a single tear to help numb the inner pain
Searching for bread a warm place to lay his head
Out comes the cactus patch to claim it's latest victim
Blackened walls that squeeze it's head so often will bleed
A one eyed golpher in a cactus patch
Outside with the coyote's howl their fever pitched scene
One lone golpher searches for grass but that never lasts
There's a battle brewing with mother nature's storm now brewing
There it appeared this strange cactus patch out of no where
Running head long it collides with the needles formation
May need of some rest on a long awaited vacation
While scrambling for morsels of bread on the ground
Ouch !
You could be a try polite to one famed golpher who is out of sight
Let's learn a lesson all strangers here I preach
Where to lay your head may seem so out of reach
MY ENCOUNTER WITH AN ANT.....
I am a real little old lady,
I walked along a street so shady,
Had an encounter with a tiny ant,
To him I appeared such a giant,
He trod among the leaves so pliant,
He waved his legs at me, so defiant,
"Well met, young ant, and how are you?
What's your name, I'll introduce you?
My name is Freddy Unger, what's it to you?
My initials say it all, sod off, old bag, F U!"
So that was my encounter with a tiny ant,
Why on earth was he so defiant?
I was only a little old lady,
Rambling along the streets so shady.....
I'm doing a little highland dancing
and I've gone commando under my kilt
I lay down my claymore
Then dance around the hilt .
but I slipped and did the splits
Now I'm only slightly built .
Dah, Dah, Twiddly , Dah
Twiddly Twiddly Dee
Let go of your sporran
and come and dance with me .
You have to go commando
and expose your hairy knee's
Belts off Troosers down
Let your bits dangle in the breeze
Ignore the flashing blue lights
Tell the police men to sod off
I'll come and visit you in prison
The next time I have another day off.
Dah , Dah , Twiddly , Dah
Twiddly , Twiddly , Dee
Let go of your sporran
and come and dance with me.
Blah
Blah
Blah
I’m sorry, what did you say?
Blah di Blah
Blah di Blah
Blah di Blah
Whatever
Blah di Blah di Blah
Blah di Blah di Blah
Blah di Blah di Blah
This is complete nonsense
Have you no conscience?
This means nothing
You’re just bluffing
Call this art?
You should tear it apart
It has no feeling
Most unappealing
Put it to scrap
This load of crap
Sod off
Blah, Blah, Blah
Hah, Hah, Hah!
True love.
An elderly Scotsman is dying.
He is lying in his bed.
When he thinks he smells home baking,
or is it in his head?
With all of the strength he can muster,
he reaches his bedroom door.
Crawls on all fours downstairs
ignoring his pain so sore.
He finally arrives at the kitchen,
stares at the groaning big table.
Covered in home made biscuits
made by his sweet wife Mable.
He"d loved her for fifty odd years
in fact for all of his life.
Was this a last act of kindness
from a loving devoted wife?
She knew he loved her home baking
and the table was laden indeed.
There was every conceivable biscuit
just waiting for someone to feed.
The old man felt so humble
like this was the promised land.
With dying breath he reached...
when a spatula whacked his frail hand.
"Sod off,
they"re for the funeral."
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