In Pursuit of His Billy-can's Secrets

[Glenny Palmer]

In Pursuit of His Billy-can’s Secrets


It seems that billy cans can tell a lot of secrets, bloody hell,
can this be true? you beaut, yippee! at last I’ll know the things that he
would rather that I don’t, but me, I’ve gotta know! (I’m female see.)

I wanna know about that chick he reckons that he gave the flick,
and what about the TAB and that ten quid he took from me?
Oh yeah, and what about that day he hid a slab beneath the hay?
There’s lotsa things I wanna know; I must prepare before I go.

I’ve gotta make this trip alone. I’ll leave behind my mobile phone;
The secrets of all males must be exposed with great dexterity.
Now, where’d he say he buried it? I’ll exercise so I’ll be fit
to make the trek across the sand with pick and shovel in my hand.
I’ll buy a compass, OS map and wear my ‘Life Be In It’ cap.

So…I’ve bought up every billy can from op shops right across the land.
I’ve dug ‘round every mulga tree from Broome to Bourke, compulsively…
I’ve advertised in wanted sales; I see them swinging offa nails
and pinch them quick, and then I scram, ‘cause when it comes to billy cans
my comprehensive plans can’t fail to extricate their secret tales
I’ll bear the lot…tsunami, gales and cyclones flogging me with hail
won’t hinder me; I’ll get my hands upon each single billy can…those billy cans…

I’m sitting in the surgery with billy cans surrounding me,
they’re swinging off my arm and hat, and rattling on the doctor’s mat,
but none of them has said a word; perhaps a bloke will make them heard?
Yeah! that’s the crack, it’s plain to see the sods are sworn to secrecy.
It’s all a plot against us sheilas, billy cans are never squealers.
Doctor paused and rubbed his chin, and said ‘‘This awful state you’re in
has indications I can see that you are smit with OCD. *
It’s plain you need a cuppa tea.’’ And then the blighter handed me
all steaming, brewing, bloody hot, an aluminium teapot……

Teapots……….? now I wonder do they hold such evidences too?
Teapots, teapots, I must know! ‘‘Just take this pill dear, off you go.’’

Oh. Bugger all the billy cans and teapots urns and frying pans,
there’s only one way I can see to wrestle secrets out of he,
and that’s to drug his mashed potata with a potion to debate a
line of frank interrogation; truth serum…emancipation!....................

* obsessive compulsive disorder.

[Bob Pacey]

I don't get it ?


Bob

[Neville Briggs]

Bob, There's a program on ABC TV called The Best of Collectors, That will give you a clue.

[Bob Pacey]

Oh I will have a look and get back to you Glenny


Thanks Nev. I mean it have a look at Bitchin Kitchen Not sure what station it is on but they are really getting desperate .


Bob

[Glenny Palmer]

Oh dear. Some of us are subtle and some of us just ain't.

Females Bobbo....and their persistent curiosity...to the point of OCD..........

Maybe croc can explain it better...........

Tales from my pannikin…


The port in my pannikin served me the night
and the pannikin heard all the tales of my plight,
and the night turned to dawn as I drank the red gold
and the pannikin stored all the tales that I told.

It stored all the tales of the hard times long past
when I sailed the blue oceans and worked ‘neath the mast,
and the times in strange places with less gentle folk…
that pannikin stored every word that I spoke.

It got to the point where I dreaded the day
that I’d have to reluctantly throw it away…
for the things that it knew were a trouble to me
it knew of the poor and the rich bourgeoisie.

And the bloody thing knew far too much to be safe
so I loaded the twelve gauge and gave it a strafe,
and I buried the pieces way down some old shaft
where some long ago miner had spent his life’s graft.

Now the pannikin’s gone… and no more do I dread
the tales from the pannikin, long ago dead;
but the ghost of that pannikin haunts me each night
when I tell my new pannikin tales of my plight.

©croc