I Hope Yer Sheep Get Flyblown

So you're the mob got all the rain while we got hardly none;
The clouds massed over your place and left us with the sun.

Your bit of sky grew darker, while we just got the heat -
I watched the storms a-building... my thoughts were not too sweet,
I caught a whiff of dampness as the wind began to gust;
It blasted all around and then it drowned us in... red dust.

Lightning filled the heavens, caused havoc with the power;
Yes, we got the black-outs... but we never got a shower.

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I hope yer sheep get flyblown,
I hope yer fleeces rot;
I hope the 'roos find all yer grass
and eat the bloody lot.
I hope yer cattle choke on weed
and then all get the shits;
I hope that when it rains again
yer roads all fall to bits.
I hope the burr-bush thrives and grows
and spreads across yer land;
I hope yer stock gets nicked when
all that rain dissolves yer brands.
I hope yer fences wash away
and all yer horses roam;
I hope a heap of nasty leaks
will moisturise yer home.
I hope that big green slimy frogs
will populate yer loo;
I hope they serenade you
'til yer ear-drums break in two.
I hope yer dogs all get webbed feet
and keep 'em for all time;
I hope a million bog-holes
will then turn yer place to slime.
I hope the creek beside yer yards
will shift 'em from their site;
I hope the hopes I hope for you
will keep you up all night.

Copyright; Janine Haig