I am a wealthy barrister About 100 bucks a word I've got a plum stuck in my mouth I'm really such a Really such a turd I attended PAC I meet a wife at
Change your name, get a new address All it takes is gall Fifty-five bucks a week's no social security at all It's a form of reprisal, a song of survival
Buy a litre of Fabulon Dare we spray down In the scorched trail of a Sunbream iron Paint your face with Revlon To hide your frown In the blue gloam glare
The faces in the photograph have faded And I can't believe he looks so much like me For it's been ten years today Since I left for Old Cork Station Sayin
Well it's one more boring Thursday night in Adelaide And it looks like everybody must have died There's no one on the streets and nothing on TV Well I
Joe spoke no english but he had a dream And he saved up most of his pay To bring his wife and six kids from Lebanon And settle down here to stay You
Peter's a cabby on Adelaide roads And in five o'clock traffic that's a hard road to hoe Hunts for his family in a Holden with a two-way and meter And
I loved your home at Springfield And your chauffer-drive Jag But the afternoons at the yaucht squadron Rally are a drag Your country home at Aldgate Your
It's a harsh dry land, it breaks your back and scars and gnarls your hands Now carcasses rot in the sun and dust silts up the dams Sacked two men when
've been to Bali too Wired home for money, short of cash A dose of Bali belly and a tropical rash Daddy came through - American Express Bali t-shirts, magic mushrooms, Redgum
The axe is swift and reckless Feel the grain, split it wide Cut away to build the mansions Of banks and boards in distant hands The axeman looks to the
White door, ninth floor, silent number, it's autumn on a cold avenue Telex intercept, he sips a cigarette, warms up his V.D.U. He gets his kicks from
There's a corrugated highway Leading north from Port Augusta lined with ratted cars that didn't rate a tow The Salt plains out of Pimba And your eyes
She said she came from Portland Where the ashen skies and leaden ocean Left her like the local boys, barren of emotion As we talked we watched the raindrops
Are you proud white Australians wherever you are? Beer in your hand and your elbow on the bar All you people from Darwin to the south With your blue faded
The rivers are dry across the land and the farmers fields have turned to sand 'Cause the rain hasn't come for two years going on three The topsoil's gone
Mother and child playing on the lawn It's a middle class home on a Sunday morning And the mother says, son, where ya gonna run Where ya gonna run to now
Can you hear me Bjelke-Petersen From your leather padded chair? There's a tide outside your door Steadily rising It's a simple case of freedom And a lot
