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Has anyone ever explained coastal erosion to Tony Abbott?
It’s just a little side-effect of climate change And you’re not going to stop the waves Tony with your green army! Australia’s washing away Somewhere along the line There’s been a miscarriage of justice (x3) And has anyone ever explained ocean acidification to Barnaby J? It’s just another little side-effect of climate change. If Barnaby just had a bit of chemistry Next time he’s having a beer with Tony he can say Those waves that are washing Australia away They’re waves of acid - washing Australia away They’re waves of acid - washing Australia away And has anyone ever explained to Joe Hockey That if you don’t have an environment You don’t have an economy? And you can’t solve the world’s problems By eating a bloody hamburger Somewhere along the line There’s been a miscarriage of justice (x3) |
Miscarriage of Justice
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Luv my gun, shoot ‘em in the head
Luv my gun I love animals, their heads on the wall Luv my gun I shot elephants and I’ve shot deer I shot a lion and I shot a bear Cause I luv my gun It’s my culture, it’s meat on the plate Luv my gun Luv my gun, shoot em all dead Luv my gun I shot Skippy, and I shot a hippy I shot a lion and I shot a bear Cause I luv my gun If you go camping in the woods today Luv my gun Don’t wear an orange beanie and don’t brush your teeth Cause I luv my gun I shot elephants and I’ve shot deer I’ve shot a lion and I’ve shot a bear And I’d shoot a panda in the face if you let me |
Luv my Gun
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I am the captain of this ship
Please don’t blame me for the bad trip We’ve battled the seas and we’ve conquered the Straits There’s no rum left and the food ain’t great I am the captain of the ship Don’t point your finger at me (x2) You don’t want to get buried at sea I get paid by the head you see We pulled into Rio and sampled the wares And for a moment we lost all our cares I am the captain of the ship Don’t point your finger at me, no Don’t point your finger at me The crew are drunk, the ropes are broke Haul ‘em up boys Haul ‘em up boys The seas are rough, our cargo is tough Hold on for your life We’ll make it I promise, despite all the rubbish And one day we’ll see Sydney Don’t point your finger at me boy Don’t point your finger at me The roaring forties pushed us on The human cargo carried on in song About no air and dirty water Slowly all of our tempers got shorter I am the captain of the ship Don’t point your finger at me, no Don’t point your finger at me Finally we sighted the Heads I summoned the crew and we counted the dead We all cheered when we hit the ground We sought grog and women in old Sydney Town I am the captain of the ship Don’t point your finger at me, no Don’t point your finger at me We’re rough and ready and not very steady We’ll drink til dawn, our sorrows are gone The ship is repaired, and ready to go, Go, Go, Go! Don’t point your finger at me, no Don’t point your finger at me I am the captain Of the ship Please don’t blame me For the bad trip |
The Captain
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I am the modern warrior, I fight the urban sprawl
I am the lonely beggar sitting in the Pitt Street mall I am the western suburbs, jammed up with the bogan homes I am the hungry monster, built upon greed and sandstone And when the sun goes down, you’ll see the dark side of this town You’ll go down down down down Down down to Sydney town Down, to Sydney town Rape and pillage, it’ll take your soul It’ll steal your innocence It will take it all, it’ll take it all (x2) It’ll take it all I am the Hawkesbury River, the ghosts at Callan Park A tattooed arm at Coogee spewed up from a tiger shark I am James Hardie Fibro, dioxins in the bay Shootin’ up at Cabramatta, having coffee in a [Bronte] Beach café And when the sun goes down, you’ll see the dark side of this town You’ll go down down down down Down down to Sydney town Down, to Sydney town Rape and pillage, it’ll take your soul It’ll steal your innocence It will take it all, it will take it all (x2) It will take it all I am the deals and handshakes, going down in Macquarie Street An outrage at Mount Rennie (or Mount Penny) I’m standing at the wharf, I’m on the beat I am your local Westfield, an old and groaning wharf Listen to the ghosts of the colony Listen to us, hear us talk And when the sun goes down, you’ll see the dark side of this town You’ll go down down down down Down down to Sydney town Down down down down Down, down to Sydney town Rape and pillage, it’ll take your soul It’ll steal your innocence It will take it all, it’ll take it all (x2) It will take it all Yeah it’ll take it all, and leave you with nothing |
Sydney Town
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Doing tours of the local soup kitchens
Sick and tired of the constant bitching Need a blanket just to keep me warm But all the blankets are gone I’m drinking muscat from a paper bag I get my comfort from this fortified slag I go to sleep under city lights I’m dossing out tonight Oh oh oh, dossing out tonight Oh oh oh, under a moonlit night Head to the cross for a little more action The Wayside Chapel is high and packed in Find some money on Victoria Street Then dodge the coppers on the beat I see the Salvos in a nearby park A shining light in the misty dark Fall asleep feeling cold and shitty It’s just another night in the city Oh oh oh, dossing out tonight Oh oh oh, under a moonlit night Busking Crown Street - pots and pans Stinking overcoat and dirty hands Dodge the rednecks - they’re on the prowl I need a cigarette now I’m moved on from station to station I’ve never time to contemplate my situation You’ll see me on your way to work In the shadows I lurk Oh oh oh, dossing out tonight Oh oh oh, under a moonlit night |
Dossing Out
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How can you condemn me before I’m even born
How do you define insanity when you can’t define the norm You can’t hear the voices, you can’t feel the pain We all make different choices And now I’m certified insane, insane I’m certified insane Institutions, revolutions, history unwinds Reality has shattered and it opens up my mind You can’t hear the voices, you can’t feel the pain We all make different choices And now, now I’m certified insane, insane I’m certified insane, insane Oh I’m certified I’m certified You got me certified I’m insane Certified insane Certified |
Insane
http://fractaljourney.blogspot.com.au/
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Statue stands on Kings Parade
Surveyor with a noble gaze White man’s tribute to the time When they crossed the Great Divide Yeah, when they crossed the Great Divide 1813 was the year The governor moved the troops out here So they opened up the plains To dispossession, fear and pain Yeah, fear and pain See the fires burning bright Feel the anger and the fright From your homeland you must run Because the war has just begun So they came and took up the land Farmers, soldiers and the convict man And they brought their rule of law Where the wealthy rule the poor Yeah, where the wealthy rule the poor Grab your children, run and hide Run from all your sacred sites From disease, death and scourge Your bravest heroes will emerge Lonely statue on the plains Birdshit blocks your noble gaze The fairytale of your glory Is just a made-up hollow story Yeah, it’s a made-up hollow story Fairytale of your glory Is just a made-up hollow story |
1813
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Well the land-grab started here for them so many years ago
When Mitchell opened up the plains they called it Jericho Now farms are not enough to spin the dollars for the kings So they’re going to dig for coal in Galilee Galilee Galilee Valley of great riches, come on and gather coal Galilee Galilee Saddle-up your horses, we’re going for the gold Well you’re going to need a railway from here to Abbott Point Don’t worry about the EIS, we’ll doctor a report Just point your hands in front of you directly to the sea And you’ll haul your stinking coal from Galilee Galilee Galilee Valley of great riches, come on and gather coal Galilee Galilee Saddle-up your horses, we’re going for black gold So saddle up the government, we’ll take them for a ride The Chinese and the Indians are waiting for their prize Now the Brigalow and Bimblebox will fade from memory As you haul your stinking coal from Galilee Galilee Galilee Valley of great riches, come on and gather coal Galilee Galilee Saddle-up your horses, we’re going for black gold We’ll dump the sludge into the reef, the fish’ll be just fine Its only sediment my friend, from Bowen bloody mines The climate it’ll be alright you wait and frickin’ see As we dig our fuckin’ holes in Galilee Galilee Galilee Valley of great riches, come on and gather coal Galilee Galilee Saddle-up your horses, we’re going for black gold Galilee Galilee Valley of great riches, come on and gather coal Galilee Galilee Saddle-up your horses, we’re going for black gold Hey! |
Galilee
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While the men were unyoking the teams
I was informed that Mr Cunningham was missing. He had left the part early in the day, and it was evident that he had gone astray. I felt less anxiety on the subject, little doubting he would gain the camp. I had the pain to learn on reaching the camp that Mr Cunningham was still absent. We at length encamped near a pond, but poor Mr Cunningham, poor Mr Cunningham came not After an almost sleepless night I rose early, and could only relieve my anxiety by organising a search. I set up a small stick with a piece of paper affixed to it containing the words: Dear Mr Cunningham My horse’s tracks will lead you back to the camp And I learned that the two men sent back had at length found Mr Cunningham’s track into the country I had twice traversed in search of him. In search of him. They came to where his horse lay dead. Had he killed the horse rather than the dog, had we pursued our course down the Bogan his life would have been saved. They traced the continuation of his track where many natives had been encamped. They found a portion of coat; I could only hope that Mr Cunningham might still be brought back. And thus for the first time, I learned that Poor Cunningham had really been murdered. Murdered by the savages! Wongadgery. Boreebomalie. Buremal. (x2) They determined to destroy him, striking him with their nulla-nulla, speedily affecting their purpose. We at length encamped near a pond, but poor Mr Cunningham, poor Mr Cunningham came not. I arrived at a place called Currandine. I collected all the remains I could discover, raised a small mound over them, barked some of the nearest trees marking the spot. We at length encamped near a pond But poor Mr Cunningham, poor Mr Cunningham came not. |
Mr Cunningham
Words from:
Three Expeditions into the Interior V1 by Thomas Mitchell EXPEDITION SENT TO EXPLORE THE COURSE OF THE RIVER DARLING, IN 1835. Chapter 2.2, Mr Cunningham goes missing. 
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One scenario: global malaria pandemic in a storm jungle
Dead acid ocean, acid rain - not a world I can live in What sort of beasts will evolve in a world such as this? I am a catastrophist Acid ocean, acid rain Burning through my skin again Acid ocean, acid rain Or imagine a world full of birds and splendour, A world full of pleasure and laughter, no pain No countries, no border, and no multi-nationals No wars over god, class, resources or race What fool would believe in a world such as this? I am a catastrophist Lashing rain and burning fire Nothing like my heart’s desire Lashing rain and burning fire One scenario: global malaria pandemic in a storm jungle Dead acid ocean, acid rain – not a world I can live in What sort of beasts will evolve in a world such as this? I am a catastrophist Acid ocean, acid rain Burning through my skin again Acid ocean, acid rain |
Catastrophist
2009 Sky News excerpt.
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Didn’t someone write a song about the ice-caps are melting
way back in 1968? Little Tony, a boy of 11 [Then] in the seminary learning you could lie and you could still get to heaven. So you can take your 23 thousand dollars to ride your bike You can bet that’s something that the electorate doesn’t like And you can cut expenditure, so long as it’s schools, health, welfare, manufacturing and science and spend more on spying and defence Climate change is absolute ‘crap’ Sovereign borders, fiscal emergency What happened to the urgency? So here we are 12 months later and nobody cares We’ve got our motor homes and shares And Australia’s open for business And no-one’s the suppository of all wisdom And because you’re the king You don’t give a shit about anything Tony Abbott, you’re a sock-cutter And you think you’re a pheasant-plucker, but you’re not You’re a fire-trucker, you sock-cutter Tony Abbott, you’re not my captain. |
Ode to Tony
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