The Flatulence Tax

A flatulance tax on cattle and sheep,
Another rip-off to make us all weep.
Preserving the ozone at any expense,
It's all propaganda that doesn't make sense.

Abandon the flock and abolish the herd,
When it comes to survival, then nothing's absurd.
But what will we eat for daily protein?
The answer is simple, the mighty baked bean.

So plough in the forrage and pastures too
Put paid to the curse of the cattle poo.
Then plant all the land with navy beans,
Belching out gasses from smokey machines.

The resulting erosion will wipe any smiles,
Make the Greenies appear they're suffering piles.
With options so few when it comes to a meal,
And the after affects still part of the deal.

With the whole population gobbling baked beans,
The potential was there for some horrid scenes.
The worst of our fears were about to come true,
The Follies were gobbling their baked beans too.

And adding more fuel to their natural reserve,
The electorate was poised to get its deserve.
Their innards vibrated their faces contorted,
The speaker collapsed and debate was aborted.

Then rising as one from babes to old Granny,
With timing so perfect was almost uncanny.
The whole population let off a great fart,
With a bloody big bang blew the ozone apart.

Copyright; John O'Neill