I Am, You Are, We Are Australian????????
So we are all Australians on a largish Continent
With a smallish population, and a rather strange accent
You’d think with all our ‘mateship’ talk, and ‘fair go’ way of life
That a simple conversation could not get you into strife.
See I came from Victoria, the Educated State
To come and live in Queensland, but I think I got there late
Because the literary misfits all beat me to the place
And turned their way of talking to a verbal basket case.
The Queensland Teachers told me kids must bring a Port to school
Port? Bloody bullshit, do they think a man’s a fool?
“Touch my Galway Pipe, son, and give it to your teacher
And I’ll tear ya bloody arms off! He’ll get zilch, the bloody leacher!”
And the dickheads have their dinner - at tea time, bloody hell!
And have their lunch at dinnertime, I don’t think they’re well
They call their Royal Show’s an Ekka, and they play some ‘Rugby League’
Was there some Northern succession that didn’t quite succeed?
They have ’Stingers’ in the water, ‘King Brownies’ in the Scrub
Cyclones in the evening and serve cat piss in the pub.
And further on up North they only have one sweaty season.
While if you wander just inland, you’ll end up bloody freezin’
They call their yabbies ‘Red Claw’. Mate, they’re yabbies, get it right
You’d probably bloody notice if you were saving your Daylight
And then the final wanker act, heard a million times a day
As all the Queensland sentences tail off with an ‘AYE’!!!
But I suppose they’re not to blame that common sense there fails
I think they’re just a smaller form of bloody New South Wales
Where The First Fleet came and landed, they all think they’re in God’s lap
(Little did they know that Cook was desperate for a crap)
And their racehorses run backwards, clockwise like up North
You think you’ve backed a winner but you find it came in forth
And no good asking a local, who knows your from down South
‘Cause they fly into some accent with a plum stuck in their mouth.
You can tell if they’re from Sydney cause they try to all talk clever
But if their from the New South Bush, you’ll understand them never!
And while a simple conversation with a New South Dork’s a failure
It’s nothing when compared to talking to a South Australian
They drawl and stall and mumble like a wallaby with a lisp
As they talk about their churches and the Crows and West End piss
And then they whine about their wines, and their valley in Barossa
Then here it comes, the Lost Grand Prix, from some Roxby Downs bred tosser
And if you think the language down that way is a failure
Then I won’t go into ‘Mining Speak’ they talk in West Australia!!
And Tassie Talk, well haven’t been there, haven’t heard
But from those who have swum over I can’t understand a word.
And the Territory Tongue, well, Digger, please don’t get me started
Their dialect, like the Alice, sounds like a Kangaroo has farted
And the ACT? It’s cliche but only hot air comes from there
And whatever it is they’re saying, mate, well I don’t really care.
I’ll head back to Victoria, where the Aussie language rules
And the art of proper English is taught within our schools
‘We are one and we are many’ or so the song may say
So how come every bloody state talks their own strange way?
©Neil McArthur 11/8/2014
