A gum tree’s not the same without a kookaburra’s call,
\nAnd a bar’s not like a pub alive with Aussie drawl.
\nYou can’t catch all the cobbers, hangin’ out an’ drinken’ booze,
\nAnd askin’ for a schooner here’s a battle ya’ gonna lose. <\/p>\n
There’s no digger’s here to greet you with greeting full o’ cheer,
\nGidday Mate ‘ow ya goin’?” ‘s what I like to hear.
\nAnd Hogesie’s not a God over here – he’s just a movie star,
\nAnd no-one knows who the hell Strop is, his ol’ sidekick galah! <\/p>\n
And no-one loves a sunburnt country, but they all love Aussie ya see,
\n‘Coz Hoges comes on the telly, tellen’ ’em it’s the place to be!
\nSure it’s a bonzer place it is – me name is mud if it ain’t –
\nAnd there’s never a dago, pommie or yank, that to go there, just can’t wait! <\/p>\n
I love a sunburnt country, but I’m an Aussie, you know,
\nThe land of sweeping plains, I reckon back there I’ll go.
\nThe ragged mountain ranges, bit smaller than the ones here,
\nThe droughts and flooding rains, but I prefer the weather clear. <\/p>\n
Yeah, Dorothea Mackeller wrote that poem, “My country”
\nSometimes I turn on the waterworks, ‘coz with it I agree.
\nAnd no-one ever heard the perils o’ Mick Ginger, Doreen and the Bloke,
\nWhen I try to culture these bloody yanks, I often give up hope. <\/p>\n
Not one o’ these coots knows ‘oo Banjo is (Mr. Patterson I mean)
\nAnd tho ‘e snuffed it years ago, I ‘old ‘im in high esteem.
\nAnd ya got buckley’s of findin’ anyone who knows Henry Lawson’s name,
\nAnd the wobble board and Rolf Harris – ya chance is about the same. <\/p>\n
Speakin’ o’ Rolf, what happened to him, his bush ballads and didgeridoo?
\nI ‘member ‘im well, the stories ‘e’d tell, and the paintin’s on walls that
\n‘e’d do.
\nAnd there’s Ginger Meggs and Pickering, and ‘is cartoons of the PM,
\nAnd all the House, and the Opposition – ‘struth, could ‘e draw them! <\/p>\n
I used to think “White Christmas” was referen’ to the sand
\nOn the beach behind me Nanna’s house, or up the caravan,
\nAnd who’d o’ thought that Vegimite could nowhere be found,
\nAnd me Auntie’s great pavlova – I miss those swirling mounds! <\/p>\n
And nobody here gives two hoots about the Queen’s birthday.
\nBut then again who in Aussie does? But at least it’s a holiday!
\nAnd who ever heard o’ playing footie with a helmet on ya head?
\nAnd all that bloody padding and on plastic grass as well! <\/p>\n
No Eadies, Fultons, Rex Mossup’s, or whoever else you can name –
\nThere’s no room for Aussies here in this Sporting hall of fame,
\nAnd the Chapels and the Lillies here are things in old churchyards
\nNo wickets, stumps or bowlers – but there’s batters (if they are)! <\/p>\n
And the Ashes or the Test Series don’t mean nothin’ at all
\nTo these galah’s who use a bat that’s round when they play ball.
\nBut a Big Ben pie with tomato sauce – favorite cricket ground tucker –
\nIs as popular here as weak yankee beer is back home in Australia.<\/p>\n
And lifesavers here don’t do it for the love or for the sport,
\nNo surf carnivals or Grant Kenny’s, they get paid to do their job.
\nBut Aussie surfers are still world renowned for bein’ number one,
\nAnd the sailors aren’t far behind since they won that ugly cup. <\/p>\n
Beaches here are dead ringers for home, but there’s somethin’ that doesn’t agree –
\nIt’s the way the sun rises over the land and sets into the sea!
\nBut I s’pose I never crossed the nullarbor, or been to W.A.,
\nSo o’ course the sun’s gonna be different when it rises and sets that way. <\/p>\n
And nothin’ comes near the Great Barrier Reef, or the coastal ports at home,
\nYou know the likes o’ Sydney Opera House are world famous an’ well known.
\nAnd the coat-hanger across ol’ Port Jackson – a safe an’ massive thing,
\nSeems much more solid than this Golden Gate that looks like it’s made o’ string. <\/p>\n
In Australia a two lane highway was pretty good if it was sealed.
\nHere six lanes is the least ya find, an’ there are never any lanes clear!
\nSort o’ like havin’ a Pitt street all over the place, all the time,
\nSpecially the way Pitt Street is in the arvo’s at about ‘alf five. <\/p>\n
To make it worse they drive their cars on the wrong side o’ the road,
\nAnd everyone’s out to get you – it’s a bloody war out there you know.
\nAnd freeways turn into long car parks every day at about the same time –
\nAll it takes is one good prang and you’ll be there all the bloomin’ night. <\/p>\n
And amongst all this bloody traffic, not a panelvan around,
\nNot Hot FJ’s or old EH’s, not a Holden to be found,
\nBut just like home there’s jap cars here, every where you think of,
\nBut back in Oz we don’t have these huge Mercury’s, Caddilacs, or Lincolns. <\/p>\n
These bloody sepo’s seem to do everything in a bigger, better (?) way,
\nAnd the cities are so much bigger, ya can’t see the light o’ day!
\n‘Coz the smog’s so thick, and buildings tall – urban jungle I think it’s called,
\nAnd lights and houses as far as you can see, but not enough room for all. <\/p>\n
So they stack their houses atop each other, and call ’em condo’s, (you bet!)
\n‘Bit like flats, but you get to own ’em, and pay fees instead o’ rent.
\nSwitches are all upside-down, and the powerpoints don’t have enough holes, And the loo is always in with the tub, gives me the willies, ya’ know. <\/p>\n
Back in Australia we used the bathroom to have a bath you know,
\nThe thunderbox or the dunny was where you went if ya had to go!
\nAnd the jumper me Mum knit for me, would keep me warm as toast,
\nHere you put on a sweater which sounds to me like you’re gonna roast! <\/p>\n
And the people here are not too different – there’s every race and creed,
\nJust like any Aussie city, but there’s so bloody many cities here indeed!
\nNot too much is different, not too much the same
\nBut I’ll always know, remember and love the land from which I came. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A gum tree’s not the same without a kookaburra’s call,
And a bar’s not like a pub alive with Aussie drawl.
You can’t catch all the cobbers, hangin’ out an’ drinken’ booze,
And askin’ for a schooner here’s a battle ya’ gonna lose. <\/p>\n
There’s no digger’s here to greet you with greeting full o’ cheer,
[…]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,8,4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-298","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poems","category-social","category-songs"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/298","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=298"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/298\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":656,"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/298\/revisions\/656"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=298"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=298"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/smpoetry.amigotico.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=298"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}