When Donald read out the speech we wrote
Did we hear, here and there, the odd bum note?
Don, now, we TOLD you-
Don’t stray from the auto-cue.
He doesn’t seem to heed, need or even want us,
And WE never wrote one word about Pocahontas.
We were looking at our copy of his speech as he read it,
If you agree with his words, please don’t give us the credit,
Should Don persist in being loose lipped
We might as well tear up the script.
Imagine Dons unscripted unrestrained conversations?
Free from common sense, boundarys or… reservations.
I walked out with my keys and surveyed our road-coned street
And wondered- yet again- when these works will be complete,
A note on my windscreen informed me in no uncertain terms
The Council will fine me for parking over THEIR fine berms.
With contractors gear and silly diggers blocking my accessway
Where is a displaced irate rate-payer supposed to park, pray?
My observations show the Council work has been painfully slow,
NOW the Parking Department are swift to tell me where I can go,
So, if by some miracle a Council mower should ever come to pass
I’ll be more than happy to hop in the Holden and get off the grass.
When it comes to his Wallabies Cheika is fiercely protective,
Their unlucky defeats bring on a stream of Coach’s invective,
Likeable Michael knows who to blame for all these defeats,
Touch judges and referees all cheat, he plaintively bleats.
One must feel sorry for the Wallabies on their flight home,
After Scotland, has Mike developed Asperger’s Syndrome?
For his solemnly silent team the non-stop flight is wearing,
Listening to Motormouth Michael’s non-stop swearing.
Charles Manson has finally shuffled off this mortal coil
And there’s mighty damn few who regret the loss,
But his arrival has made one hard working devil’s blood boil,
As irreverent as it sounds, Old Nick is ever so cross.
Decades ago, facing the chair, or a long life without parole
Charlie and the devil met, and an ungodly deal was done,
Now Chas has turned up his toes, and Satan awaits his soul-
He’ll wait till Hell freezes over, ‘coz Chuckie never had one.
If you’re in the hunt for some good clean fun
Dig out your passport and grab your elephant gun,
Now, thanks to what Don has gone and said and done
You can blaze merrily away ‘neath the Zimbabwean sun.
Don has duly given his licence to a blood sport
And the NRA give him their wholehearted support,
It’s the product of a mutual disregard for logical thought,
But elephants are on the brink of being extinct, so time is short…
Fly direct to Zimbabwe
And land in festive and restive Harare,
Say you will pay handsomely to go on safari
(But better not say Grace or Robert Mugabe.)
Get over there before the climate here becomes too hot,
It just takes a little money and you can be a real big shot,
Some say big game hunting’s cold blooded killing , but it’s not,
But hurry, if you’re lucky you might even plug the last of the lot.
So take aim, squeeze your trigger, watch another fall,
Bringing down something so big makes a little man stand tall,
So bring back that brainless stuffed head, mount it on the wall;
Perhaps Dumbo Don has left us a perfect and lasting legacy after all?