Welcome to Australia

Welcome to Australia, flat end of the Earth,

Land of youth in Asia, we know what it’s worth.

It may look brown and dry, but under dusty tracks,

We found precious metals in among the cracks.

We dig ‘em up and sell ‘em to make a decent buck,

With iron ore and gas, we can’t believe our luck.

The place is one big quarry, nothing wrong with that,

We haven’t got a worry and couldn’t give a rats.

Once were ancient forests, we had to chop ‘em down,

Needed posts for fences in paddocks and ‘round town.

We like to make it clear which is yours or mine,

And heaven help the bludger who oversteps the line.

Where there’s remnant forest, we crunch it into chips,

And send them to Japan in someone else’s ships.

Of course, we add value, we chop the timber down,

It keeps the economy going in many dusty towns.

The wood comes back as boxes around consumer goods,

Which we buy on credit as and when we should.

We’re led by market forces that make the world go round,

And every time we look around we wonder what is underground.

Our mob came from Europe to civilise the place,

The way the Abos ran it was, frankly, a disgrace.

In sixty-thousand years, they barely made a mark.

All we had to do was make a bloody start.

We show ‘em how to exploit, how ethics are disdainful,

Show ‘em how to make a buck, but are the bastards grateful?

Well, we ain’t finished yet, we’ve much more to plunder,

We want our two bobs’ worth from the land Down Under.

Tread lightly on the Earth? You don’t know what it’s worth.

We plough and dig and harrow and farm until it hurts.

The land is dry and fragile, so we brought sheep and cows,

Cloven hooves to scar the soil and run the rivers brown.

You may see joy and wonder, we see wealth and gain,

And marvel at how Nature provides us with our drains.

Logic is for losers, we do what we like,

Pump rivers dry for cotton and grow the Asians rice.

They reckon up in Queensland, the rate we clear and rort,

Would put us in the medals in an Olympic sport.

We sell coal for power all around the Earth,

It helps global warming and we love to surf.

As the place gets hotter, we’ll take more holidays,

Let some migrant bastards slave away all day.

We buy our clothes from China and never give a thought

To sweat shops and labour in conditions we once fought.

We used to join unions to demand workers’ rights,

Now, it’s by ‘agreement’, we gave up without a fight.

It’s ‘rational economics’, if there’s such a thing,

And we love the opportunities a global village brings.

The headmen are real smart, or else we’re bloody slack.

We used to own utilities until they sold them to us back.

Now we are shareholders, like we weren’t before,

And marvel at the salaries some top execs can draw.

It’s something to aspire, some people never stop,

Scared to be a failure unless they reach the top.

We love a bet and gamble, a wager and a punt,

We’d like a good preamble and the PM is a runt.

We have a national anthem, it’s something of a curse,

Most can sing the chorus, but no one knows a verse.

We are signatories to many UN pacts,

Looks good on the CV, despite the cold hard facts.

Human rights and dignity? That’s OK in theory,

Just don’t mention refugees, it only makes us teary.

We are an island state, which is another lucky break,

And while we came by boat, you’re too bloody late.

Stop your bloody whingeing, we’ll come and sort it out,

We have some boofy mates, who pack a bit of clout.

We have noble allies, the British and the Yanks,

We fight in all their wars and buy their clapped out tanks.

We’re not belligerent, we just like a barney,

It’s a British heritage, if you have one, use your army.

We are Australians, we’re yobbos and we’re louts,

And we don’t give a bugger, as long as it’s your shout.

We live a lucky life, we live from pay to pay,

Why, even on the dole, it’s thirty bucks a day.

We welcome visitors, as long as they are pale,

Bring us all your crap stuff, we’ll have a garage sale.

We build mighty edifices from stuff we find in crevices,

And every time we look around, we wonder what is underground.

Craig Nelson

A tonic for the times

Squeeze the essence of ten mandarins,

Add liberal doses of Abbott juice, Bishop bile,

Hubris of Hockey and hypocrisy of cardinal.

Set aside to fester.

Take neck of Swan and Shorten for pot.

Simmer over low heat.

Grate gall of Gillard and Combet well

With slice of Smith and pinch of Rudd.

Add to pot, stirring thoroughly.

When Swan neck tender, set aside to cool.

Peel a promise and discard core.

Stuff with minced mining magnate,

Diced gambling tycoon and

The contradictions of seventeen economists.

Half bake in hot oven.

Extract xenophobia and sexism

From six shock-jocks and compost.

Feed remnants to chooks.

Throw political commentators

And pollsters down a deep well,

As a treat for future archaeologists.

Combine festering essence and Swan soup

In a blender and mix well.

Add stuffed promise, garnish with Greens,

And serve cold with lashings of revenge.

It tastes like shit,

But you know it’s good for you.

Conceptualising

I captured a concept,

Put it in a cage,

Fed it thought

And let it rage.

I was careful, of course,

To cut its wings.

Because, who wants

Everything

A concept brings?

Whitefella Dreaming

If you desecrate an Indian grave you get a PH.D. If you desecrate a white man's grave you end up sitting in prison. Chief Walter Echo-Hawk, Native American.

There's an elephant in a room, where any white man sits

And it's mostly blokes, although women did their bit.

It's called invasion, dispossession, genocide,

We came and took a country, yet people try and hide

That fact.

It's beyond dispute.

You can try and justify, obfuscate

Rationalise, have a debate,

But it doesn't change

The fact

That these vast tracts

Of land we call Australia

Were occupied by the oldest continuous cultures

Of people, the Earth has known.

Does it occur to us that they were doing something right?

Life can be sustainable.

And can we lay to rest the old lie

That they gave up without a fight?

They are fighting still, and I'm on their side,

Or your side, or any side that fights until

Some justice is instilled

And Gondwana's wish fulfilled

Beyond rugby and rum

'We love Aborigines, they play football well,

Their painting is colourful, and it sells.'

We took all their assets, laughed in their face,

Stole their children, what a bloody disgrace

And then, for good measure,

We shoved them to places we didn’t want.

Until judgement day, there's an elephant in the room

And if I have any say, it can't crap on us too soon.

We love the USA

Now, we're best friends with America,
I heard Hilary Clinton declare,
Obama was somewhat more guarded,
But he placed us right up there.

Of course, we are friends with Yanks,
We share a colonial tradition,
Of convicts, serfdom and slavery,
And antipathy to sedition.

The land of the free and the brave,
And the land that is girt by sea,
One doesn't know how to behave,
And the other's too blinkered to see.

When Bush grabbed Howard's balls
And called him a 'man of steel',
It provided a new dimension
On how our best friends feel.

We sided with the schoolyard bully,
It's an easy decision to make,
In a world with so many weaklings,
Why not be mates with the great?

Australia's so neat and pathetic,
It won't even take refugees.
America's so great and prophetic,
It knows what all the world needs.

I believe they call it 'democracy',
Ha, you can stick my vote up your bums.
We still live in a plutocracy,
Where the rich take first pick of the plums.

I'm happy to join the legions
Of peasants who live on the land,
I've lived in major cities
And know where I'd rather stand.

Away from the stress and crowds,
Away from the hub-ub and rush,
But I'd like you to keep it quiet,
Where I live is very hush-hush.

Kev's Ute

Kevin has a ute.
What does Malcolm drive,
A roller, a beamer,
Or take a taxi ride?

I thought they had Com-cars,
With drivers 24-7,
But, it seems, to have a ute
Is a liberal notion of heaven.

The richest man in parliament
Versus one with the richest wife,
If Malcolm doesn't have a ute,
He hasn't had a life.

A touch of Aussie envy
From an eastern suburbs swell?
Even if he had a ute,
Could he drive it well?

Imagine either of them
Sculling rum until they fall
Into swags, in the tray of the ute,
At a bachelor and spinsters' ball.

Throwing doughnuts in a paddock,
With 15 mates aboard,
Spotting for kangaroos,
Because that's what utes are for.

For awhile, I thought them real blokes,
Despite impressions from afar -
They used a week of question time
To debate the merits of a car.

Then, upon reflection,
I made a pretty harsh call:
Kevin's ute is a Mazda -
Nothin' Australian in that at all.

Craig Nelson 2009

Sleepers

While everyone's asleep,
Dreaming corporate lives,
For all who walk the steep,
Uncompromising strides,
For those who go and teach,
And those who face their fears,
I hope you all can reach
The shore beyond your tears.

Craig Nelson 2009