Monday, 31 March 2014

March 31: Stealing cars in Brisbane ...

We stole a red ute and went for a spin
When the coppers they chased us, we didn’t give in
We drove on the footpath, up the street the wrong way
Filled with our booty, stolen earlier that day

I don’t have a license, haven’t done any courses
But I really love cars that have plenty of horses
I like it more better if the car looks real cool
And love it the best if someone else gets the fuel

I stole a few purses from some elderly folk
But I call it a gift ‘cause I’m a bloody nice bloke
They sure won’t need it where going soon
So I ripped off their money and took off like a hoon

So come on you coppers, chase me down the street
Oh, I’m on the wrong side, this game is so neat
As coppers on bikes they chase us round the block
The dog squad's here as well, this is such a crock

I've run over some spikes, there’s no air in my tyres
I’d better keep running now the car has expired
Into someone’s yard I’m running like mad
If the coppers they catch me, this all will turn bad

Oh dear there’s a dog chasing me close behind
Off to court I will go, where I’ll be let go and fined
I’ll head back to Brissy, and get another free ride
Can I go straight, I don’t know, I’ve not tried

Sunday, 30 March 2014

March 30: Reading the paper ...

I was reading the daily paper, this very afternoon
Reading all the headlines, the words and the cartoons
But what did I read, as I looked through all the pages
I read what reporters wrote, trading for their wages

I read of an aircraft, that’s been gone for three weeks
Of people in boats, about whom no-one will speak
Of police who sit on the wrong side of the law
And of politicians who’ll sell their souls for no more

So I turned to the sport, for some lighthearted reading
First there was racing, where it’s all in the breeding
Then I read of the cricket, where there’s talk of corruption
And then of the tennis, were the rain brings disruption

Then I went to financial, that I just don’t understand
I once made an investment, a bit less than a grand
Three years later I still held the same I put in
I get suspicious when my accountant speaks with a grin

I’ve read all the classifieds, things wanted, those for sale
But it's what’s inside the ads, it’s inside the detail
You want it, you buy it, now give me a price
Fifteen bucks a kilo, now isn’t that nice

Now I’ve read all the pages, my reading is done
I never knew reading the paper could be such fun
It’s so full of crap I really do not believe
Really just what it is it that they hope to achieve

Saturday, 29 March 2014

March 29: A quiet Saturday evening ...

As I sit on my balcony, pondering my plight
I watch as the sun slips slowly from sight
It slides down the sky until it’s no longer there
And as day turns to dusk, I lean back in my chair

I’m hearing the noises as the birds they fly home
Exploring all day, all over they roam
Soon it will be quiet, the sky will be dark
And the next thing I'll hear is the dogs as they bark

In the leaves I see movement, as they're caught by the breeze
It moves like a blanket, thrown over the trees
But then it is gone, just as fast as it came
And the trees again still, and the sky’s now a flame

The reds and the blues, they meld together as one
If the clouds are the canvas, then the paint is the sun
When the colours they darken, they fade from my view
Then the sun is it gone, and the darkness streams through

Friday, 28 March 2014

March 28: Friscos it is up for sale ...

Frisco’s it is up for sale, the first time for a while
When I saw it in the paper, to my face it brought a smile
I’ve memories that go back a bit, to 1981
When I first came to Sydney, and discovered the house of fun

Paul he was the publican, JB and Helen served the beer
We’d shoot down there at lunchtime, and at four we’d re-appear
Five schooners in an hour, and I was just a pup
My shipmates they put me to shame, Giles and Happy chalked ‘em up

A famous early opener, we’d go down on Saturday at six
With the jazz band in the corner, playing all their tricks
I remember playing eight ball, sometimes we even used a cue
That versatile pool table, it sure entertained a few

The years they passed, the bar it moved, upstairs they turned out food
Downstairs it was just the same, where the sailors made the mood
Plasma TVs on the walls, some pokies came and went
The only thing that I recall was the layout of the gents

Fifteen years of living life, between schooners at the bar
But I sauntered in a month ago and it was like I’d not been far
I miss the old days, I miss my mates, I was twenty and life was grand
I miss drinking beer at 6 AM, and boy I miss that band

Thursday, 27 March 2014

March 27: Oscar's in the poo ...

Meanwhile down south on the African isle, Oscar is getting some grief in his trial
He girlfriend has left him, she’s gone to the grave, and now it’s his own skin he’s trying to save
One wonders just why he felt such a desire, to hop out of his rack, and to just open fire
Did he not notice that she was not in his bed, or did he have evil thoughts in his head

What would I do if in his shoes, oops, that’s a line I should not have used
But really my friends, what was his aim, was he still in a trance, or was this all a game
If I had a gun, first I’d turn on all the lights, then mount a challenge, “get out here and fight”
What if I missed, which I’m likely to do, and there was a real monster, there in my loo

But no, he let go, and shot up the place, he even woke up his neighbours, a bloody disgrace
He did not even stop to put on his legs, so much unknown, but this question begs
Why would a robber hide in the john, if I was a crook, once he woke I’d be gone
He’s got a flash lawyer, ten grand a day, but I doubt if Roux can make this go away

“Who’s in my crapper” might be a question to ask, before moving on to his pistoling task
“Come out with your pants up, don’t be messing around”, but no, not our Oscar, ten rounds were inbound
Will he be taking the oath and telling his story, be tough I do reckon, he cries at the gory
In the box he's fair game, ripped up limb from limb, oops there I go, I said it again

Who knows what a jury will finally decide, will they treat him like OJ; is he South Africa’s pride
A young man who has made such a fatal mistake, when on that night, his girl's life he did take
I have no idea what will come at the end, but there’s a lesson his conduct to us it should send
If you ain’t got the legs, don’t run to face danger, it might be a loved one, not merely a stranger

Wednesday, 26 March 2014

March 26: Is it Easter yet?

My trial it was abandoned, so I left the court alone
As I sat down in my Chambers, a noise came from my phone
I stretched out for the handset and held it to my ear
A voice came from the other end, “It’s the Easter Bunny here”

Okay, I thought, a smart arse, I’ll play your silly game
“Is that right Mr. Bunny, do you have another name”
He said that he was looking for somewhere to hide his eggs
“You’re a rabbit not a chicken, I think you’d better count your legs”

The phone went silent for a bit, old Bugs was on the hop
I could sense him on the other end, too far in to stop
“Oh very bloody funny”, he quipped with some annoyance
“Yes I bloody thought so”, I returned with some flamboyance

“Would you like a carrot”, I thought I’d tease him for a while
I had all day, my trial was gone, I was trying not to smile
“Come on Bugs, just do your best, how much chocky have you got”
Thank goodness no one’s listening, I must sound like such a clot

“I’m not some cartoon character, I am the Easter Bunny”
I held my tongue for just a second, did he know that was so funny
“I need a place to hide the eggs, so the children must work to find”
A flash went off inside my head, a thought flew through my mind

This furry critter on the phone was setting up a game
He thought that I was someone else, but I was not to blame
He was deadly serious, but I was just having a bit of fun
I had to bring this to an end, my enjoyment it was done

“Hey Bugs I got some news for you, who did you intend to call”
His tone changed as the penny dropped, “Isn’t this the primary school”
I informed him of his error, but he took it in his stride
"Well I guess I'd better hop away, I've a million eggs to hide"

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

March 25: Felony murder in Indiana ...

Five men in central America, some still in their teens
Decided to rob an old man’s house, two were just sixteen
They thought the house was vacant, but they got an awful fright
When the old man he seized his firearm, and shot into the night

One boy was killed, one was hurt, the others ran away
But down in Indiana, the law will have its say
The old man shooter did no wrong, he was not charged at all
But the four criminal survivors, were about to take a fall

The felony murder rule it is not new, it was used on Ronald Ryan
As he tried to escape from Pentridge, and killed a copper tryin’
They use the same rule in Indiana, when a death results from crime
The four young men were sent to jail, for lengthy periods of time

None of the boys they held a gun, one did not even go inside
But the jail term that each one received, made the news worldwide
Of the Elkhart Four as they are known, each is now well incarcerated
For sentences of fifty years, their boyhood dreams deflated

Too long, too short, opinions vary, some say it’s much to long
A teenagers brain is not yet developed, they did not know it was so wrong
I don’t buy that for a minute, they took a chance and yep, they lost
Quite prepared to steal and rob, they're now paying the ultimate cost

Monday, 24 March 2014

March 24: Get off your bloody phone ...

There’s a big mouth on the phone, just two seats away
His conversation is inane and quite petty
The whole carriage exposed to his private affairs
I’d like to throw the fat pig off a jetty

I don’t know why people think, we’re the least bit intrigued
With matters of his family’s concern
I could not give a toss of his personal life
His mobile I would like to burn

An obnoxious tosser’s what he sounds like to me
To have to work with him must be a joy
I pity his colleagues who must put up with his crap
My anger I’d like to deploy

But wait, he has finished, our peace it returns
Now he’s scrolling through his phone’s contact list
Looking for someone to call and annoy
I scream at full voice, “please desist”

His head slowly turns, shit, did I say that out loud
His gaze I meet square and full on
Though much larger than life he does seem to be
When he gets to his feet I’ll be gone

It’s not that I’m scared, you must understand
Thirty seconds and he’ll be out of puff
But I must show restraint to this poor human being
Cause in just twenty I would be stuffed

Oh great, even better, he’s alighting the train
My safety I’ve schemed to retain
But I must keep an eye out next time I get on
So I’m not in his carriage again

Sunday, 23 March 2014

March 23: My tipping just sucks ...

I’m sitting here watching the footy, lamenting my choice in the tips
Last week I got two from eight games, and this week has not gone to script
My heart says always tip Canberra, but my head says don’t be such a fool
For consistently giving them credit, for my tipping I should go back to school

In three games I have lost by a field goal, in two others by less than a try
I don’t even know why I still do this, I should just turn it off and go cry
Now it looks like Parramatta might beat Manly, I’ll eat my rabbit skinned hat
I have not a clue how to do this; I would have thought that game was down pat

Six minutes to go and they’re losing; the Eels are two points in front
I’d hate to be near to Jeff Toovey, his language at times can be blunt
But how would you feel if you’re Parra, one game from their last seven they’ve won
Lost twenty away games in succession, how long can that just go on

But wait, Steve Matai has scored one, with less than a minute to run
Parra want the ground to open, so they can disappear and go home
Footy is such a cruel pastime, not just for the players and fans
Someone must have tipped Para, but their tips did not go to plan

Saturday, 22 March 2014

March 22: A plantation up north ...

It’s the middle of the night, and it just isn't right, as I sit here reading this brief
Got a trial starting Monday, I’ll be working all Sunday, as I prepare for the evidence in chief
I’ve read all the statements and all the reports, scanned the photos for something of use
There’s so much stuff to use, we just should not lose, but success can sometimes be obtuse

He lived in the city, but bought some land further north, from Bulladelah roughly an hour
He planted a crop of cannabis plants, over two hundred he nurtured to flower
A huge rain hit his crop, and when the flood dropped, much of the plants were destroyed
But the cops were on site, and they knew they were right, as surveillance devices were deployed

On a Saturday morning about two years ago, they drove north to tend to their crops
But hid in the bush, with videos on, were three of the Drug Squad’s best cops
Complete and utter surprise could be seen in their eyes as the coppers came out from their lair
“Get down on the ground, and put that spade down”, not a clue did they have they were there

Cultivating the weed is a serious charge, and he’s also charged with possess and supply
Telephone intercepts show he was quite the provider when his mates for more they did cry
So on Monday we’ll let a jury decide, as he points the finger direct at his best mate
Who was overseas when the cops got the tip, so it wasn’t him who cut the grass by the gate

Friday, 21 March 2014

March 21: Tales of Jack Tar

There once was a sailor, his name was Jack Tar
Spent his days chipping paint, and his nights in a bar
Had a straggly beard and loads of tattoos
Of tall ships and maidens, and his sweetheart’s name too

Of all of his squaries, he loved her the most
He told just that, every day in the post
He wrote of his love and how he missed her so bad
But never once mentioned the others he had

Now Jack loved a beer and he loved to tell tales
Of pods of sweet mermaids and humungous sized whales
Never was one to the let the truth interfere
As he cast out his spell as he sipped on his beer

The young sailors would gather as Jack he did speak
Every night in the bar, his tales were unique
He spoke of the times he had the times of his life
And of the girls in each port, and of getting into strife

He told his stories with passion, with pride and with feeling
And his eyes would mist over when spoke of hearts stealing
He talked of the seas, of the fear and respect
As waves punched the foc’sle, he never knew what was next

He told of his Captains, he loved every one
Guardians of sailors, but always up for a run
He told of his pride, as he carried the Ensign
And never one word of cashing his pension

Jack Tar was a legend, everyone one knew
But he was just made of parts, from me and from you
All the passion we hold of our time on the oceans
There’s mist in our eyes as we feel the emotions

Old sailors don’t die, they just turn to salt
Full of good deeds, but still with their faults
A million good turns, outweighs all the bad
Jack Tar was a sailor, best mate I ever had

Thursday, 20 March 2014

March 20: I just cried ...

I just cried
I missed her
I missed her so much I could touch it
But she was gone

I felt sad for her
But most of all I felt sad for me
So I cried
And I cried

I hadn’t ever met anyone like her
The times that we spent together were
Now, looking back, surreal
I was in a different place and time
I was in her place and time
And I reveled in it
But now I missed her

For a while
During the first three or four months
After she was gone
I often cried uncontrollably
I lamented what I had lost
I was grieving
I was lost
So I cried

Then, one night, I made a pact
I would cry no more
Not for her
Not for me
She was gone, and I had to get used to it
Crying wouldn't bring her back
She didn’t care that I was crying
She didn’t even know that I was crying

Because she was gone

The pain that I felt slowly abated
The loss became less
That she was gone didn’t matter so much
As the months then the years, passed by
I was getting used to the loss

And then she was a loss no more
She was a just memory

Wednesday, 19 March 2014

March 19: Did I (forget to) tell you you're under arrest ?

They chased him through the window and out on to the road
And he did not stop when called upon, his lungs cried overload
Suspected of wrongdoing, they’d arrest him on the spot
But he was having not a bar of it, not a single bloody jot

He ran down to the station, where the trains they went to sleep
At the bottom of overpass he looked up, it was so very steep
So he turned and faced the boys in blue, stood still, his face a frown
“Get on your knees” the Sergeant spat, but he firmly stood his ground

They walked at him with batons drawn, struck him twice and then again
To his elbow and once to each knee, but his face did not show pain
He stood there til they took him down, knees digging in his chest
They cuffed him then threw him in the van, with no mention of arrest

They drove him to the station, and charged him with resist
For failing to obey them when they screamed he should desist
But the cops they were not ready in their little country town
For the barrister from Sydney who would come to tear them down

The court case it was fruitful, for the client and his brief
The self righteous Senior Sergeant bombed his evidence in chief
“Was I acting in my duty when I bashed him with my stick?”
“Of course I was”, he argued, “He’s a non-compliant prick”

But the Magistrate did not agree, all charges were dismissed
Awarded costs against them, by crikey they were pissed
But now the fun has just begun, the Court’s decision paves the way
For a bad arrest and battery and false imprisonment they will pay

We quickly sued the buggers, you can’t go doing that
Flogging people if you feel they don’t respect your hat
Three small words, so powerful, could have saved you from this mess
“I’m arresting you” was all it took, so simple, but you said less

The case is over, we all got paid, and we are all so very pleased
Although I could have had a bit of fun, the Sergeant I could have teased
About how he didn’t know the law, in his little country town
I guess next time I’m passing through I’ll keep my city head right down

Tuesday, 18 March 2014

March 18: Drawn a blank ...

Nothing is coming into my head
My thoughts they are empty, I sit here in dread
Of failing to write a new rhyme here tonight
But wait, look, I’ve done it, it will be alright

I'm drawing a blank, I can’t think of a thing
I need a good line, and a tail with a sting
There must be a topic of which I can write
Before I give up and post this one tonight

Oh really, I fold, let's give it a miss
I must be able to write something better than this
I'll come back tomorrow and give it a shot
But for now you've got this, it's all that I've got

Monday, 17 March 2014

March 17: Would you like fries with that?

Big Fat Pete was hungry, so Nick he went for fries
The two fifties he used to pay were suspicious in her eyes
So the cashier she then sent those notes to the bank
The bank they told the coppers, who stopped their little prank

You see the Megaloudis brothers, they had a real good bash
They got themselves some printers and made some dodgy cash
They could’ve churned out millions; they had a heap of gear
But how to wash the currency, they just had no idea

A dodgy cover story, Pete’s alias forgot
A run down place on Kurnell beach, they thought they had the lot
“We’re printing for the Government, cash and cheques” they said
“Flags and banners for St George, white adorned with red”

Nick was an electrician; well he was some time ago
He couldn't fix a chop stick, but he was keen to have a go
So he fiddled with the printers, every one he fixed then broke
So they telephoned the techo’s, well what a bloody master stroke

The coppers they were watching, every move the brothers made
Listening to their phone calls, where Nick called a spade a spade
“We gotta shift this money”, he told his best mate Tim
Take it to the tourist traps, chance of detection it is slim

But back here in Australia, Nick was printing every night
Both he and Pete were desperate, trying to get the notes just right
But still the coppers watched them, just waiting for the time
To execute the warrant, and to arrest them for their crime

And the Feds were all over them, and they were listening in
Fat Pete was snoring on the phone, they recorded with a grin
Their plans were discussed in code, that a two year old could break
About where they should “burn” their notes, swap real ones for the fakes

Twenty-four November was the date they had selected
To enter all the premises where crimes had been detected
Five premises they raided, and much evidence was seized
Six defendants were in custody, and the coppers they were pleased

The trials began, the pleas were made, negotiations they began
Briefs compiled, indictments signed, the prosecution had a plan
Nick was the main player, his role in time evolved
Pete was just plain lazy, but Tim was heavily involved

The notes were fine, they looked real good, but the crims they were so dumb
Way too much talking on the phone, meant their plan had come undone
Hours of film surveillance, of telephonic conversation
And in the end, Tim, Nick and Pete, are each enjoying incarceration