OLD TOM'S CLOUT

                                                                                                       © L P King from It all goes 'round

                                    The bloke on the wireless on the harp does keep,

                                    Things are crook way out West.

                                    Lucky for him he doesn't know one of our best.

                                    From Old Tom he'd surely cop it.

                                    For Tom wouldn't lose any sleep,

                                    He'd boot the bloke out and tell him to hop it.

                                    Trouble is, he'd say, too many city fullas at play,

                             all having their say, our youngsters to sway,

                             for which we fair dinkum bushies must pay.

                             We'll come through though, just like all the rest.

                                    And if you dare deny, Old Tom's ire will set you out,

                                    Get out! Get out, before you feel my clout!

                                    Tom would chuck a wobbly, there'd be no jokes,

                                    if he could see all the young blokes,

                                    with their spiky hair as hard as crust,

                                    ne'er to be spoiled by a bit of dust.

                                    Pretty boys, all fragrant, with bellies in a churn,

                                    Lest at the B and S they miss their turn.

                                    Old Tom in a raging biff would shout,

                                    You lazy buggers! The whole bloody country is in drought!

                             Get out! Get out, before you feel my clout!

                                    Old Tom wouldn't whine or whinge,

                                    he'd rather feed on damper and rabbit stew.

                                    You'd be sure he wouldn't go in a queue.

                                    Nor would he bleed us all dry in a binge.

                                    No way would Old Tom labelled be -

                                    only lazy buggers rural depressed be.

                                    From the Black Stump and beyond Old Tom would spew,

                                    You lazy buggers! It's not stress you feel, but gout!

                             Get out and do a day's work or few!

                             Get out! Get out, before you feel my clout!

                                    Through flood, fire, drought and all,

                                    Tom would ne'er go near a pin-ball.

                                    He'd have no answering machine, video or golf putt,

                                    rather he'd kick a lazy bugger's butt.

                                    From way up high Old Tom would jeer,

                                    Go on, you lazy buggers! Leave your mobile phones!

                             You can have your twenty-four-hour shopping!

                             It won't give you any cheer.

                             You'll just get all distressed,

                             because you are the rural depressed!

                             Get out! Get out, before you feel my clout!

                                    And when the social workers came

                                    Old Tom ne'er went lame.

                                    He set them all working to join in the call.

                                    For Tom was ready... This is my land, he shouted,

                                    I am in command and I'll never be outed.

                             Should I die, as well I might, no lazy bugger'll stop my fight,

                            And no sleazy city snake with gall

                             would dare build a housing band on this my land.

                             For sure as here I stand, I'll promise you all,

                             that the ghost of Old Tom will demand,

                             Get out! Get out, before you feel my clout!

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