RBT Blues.

[thestoryteller]

RBT BLUES

Since RBT was introduced I mainly drink alone,
but gee I miss the bar at Kel's and all the mates I've known.
Old Boozer, Lefty, Mitch and Binge ... I wonder if the crew
still drink ... perhaps not though ... would be a silly thing to do.

Perhaps a bloke might just be wrong, and hey ... I'd love to know
for sure ... but there's no way the cook would ever let me go.
Though if a bloke did use the ploy ... "Your mum's lawn needs a trim
my dear ... she being crook and all ... and getting well? That's slim."

I reckon she'd be in my ear, "It's nice dear that you care."
Then after trimming old Maud's lawn, to prove that I'd been there,
I'd duck down to the bar at Kel's and, if by chance the crew
were there, a bloke would have to shout a round ... or maybe two.

And that's exactly what went down. And did my hunch prove right?
You bet! And being with my mates! Like toast and vegemite.
We shared a round or two of course and had one for the road,
but nine pots had me battling the effects of overload.

I had things all in hand ... I thought ... when up ahead of me,
my worst nightmare ... my fear of fears ... the boys from RBT.
Just pull her over to the curb and think this out I thought.
There's got to be a way 'round this, just use your noggin, sport.

That's it old mate! Good thinking Blue ... and got out of the car
and took the mower from the boot ... my best idea so far.
I'd bide my time and mow a lawn and wait these fellows out,
then when they'd chucked the towel in like ... I'd get a win, no doubt.

'Bout then the bloke who owned the place appeared upon the scene,
a little bit bewildered, 'cause my ploy was unforeseen.
"That’s decent of you mate," he said "the thought was really kind,
I guess you heard I broke my leg? You must have read my mind."

He seemed a decent sort of bloke - I bid the chap "G'day,"
and put him in the picture like and asked was it OK.
"Oh by the way, my name is Blue and what is yours pray tell."
"Inspector John O'Brien old son and mow the back as well."

While sitting around the campfire at the Bailey Bar Caravan Park after completing our show one night a group of caravaners began sharing a few yarns. The above poem was based on a true story told to me that night. It is also available on our CD, Blacklisted.

© Merv Webster

From the book Keeping the Culture.