Introduction

Long version: as told by the city girl: Brisbane Show

Drizabone

As my heart sings a country song,
I brave the yearly August throng,
with pioneering instincts strong
to where the bushmen are;
just a cute blue-eyed city chick,
in pointy heels and dressed so slick,
I've tip-toed where the bullshit's thick
on past the Cattleman's Bar.

And there along the bales of hay,
where gorgeous hunks stand in array,
I've paused awhile to say: G'day
to manhood from the sticks;
and Brahman bulls stare back at me
and say: My gosh! what can this be?
Strange looking curiosity -
these showbag Brisbane chicks!

The horses always catch my eye,
on concrete canyons clatter by,
and leave their little green-grass pie
to mark their sacred ground;
and there begins this horsey tail,
a day when cold damp winds prevail,
I chanced to hear this city male
who fairly did astound:

The city codger stood admiring, in the drizzling rain,
outside the draught-horse stalls - it was the Ekka time again;
struck a one-way conversation with a farmer working there
in his oil-skin, a-brushing down his champion Clydesdale mare.

The farmer was the quiet type - the sort bushmen revere;
this city cove: a know-it-all - he filled the farmer's ear,
expounding his vast knowledge like some bushman of renown;
he claimed to know a lot for one who'd never left the town.

The farmer somehow figured he had never seen the bush -
he looked like one invaded by the crowded city push.
He seemed perhaps a victim of misguided misspent youth
with twisted preconceptions of the meaning of the truth.

Still on and on he prattled and recalled his days of old;
then whinged about the weather and the cursed rain and cold.
The farmer didn't mind the rain - he'd had enough of drought;
in truth, he was just hoping that they'd had it further out.

But still he listened patiently - politeness never fails;
the city chap observed at last: "They're good - them old Drysdales."
The farmer stopped and wondered if he meant the horse or coat;
so he says: "I think Drizabone's the name you meant t'quote."

"Ah! Drizabone! Yeah my mistake. You'd think that I should know -
old Grandad uster breed them once...back many years ago."!!!

Copyright; Graham Fredriksen