The Bronze Aussie Male

He's standing there with pie and sauce
And dribbling in a Four-X beer,
His beer-gut is on show of course,
He relives days out hunting deer.

In sweaty singlet, thongs, and shorts
(That hang half-mast on Aussie cracks)
He checks out all the real good sorts -
Reminds him of the things he lacks.

So throw a shrimp on the barbie mate,
Exaggerate the hunting tale,
It's time to top another crate -
Typical sun-bronzed Aussie male.

And when he's shot a herd of moose,
And outdone Crocodile Dundee,
His tongue - it's clear - is running loose,
He's earned a place in history.

As conquests grow and records fall,
And constant patting on the backs,
Another "one" upon the wall,
It's clear just what it is he lacks:

Some common- sense.. .humility...
A brain .... give 'im another ale;
A legend in his own mind, he -
Typical useless Aussie male.

And when at last the hunting's done.
He'll change across to politics,
Religion, football. Irishmen,
And sure-fire ways of pulling chicks.

He'll solve all of the country's woes,
And dream up schemes of dodging tax,
And clean the jam between his toes -
It's clearer still just what he lacks:

Good manners, hygiene, etiquette;
Bull-dust and bull-shit still prevail;
But oh! he is loveable yet -
Typical wonderful Aussie male.

Copyright; Graham Fredriksen