Thursday, 28 August 2014

August 28: Russell Coight, pleased to meet you ...

I’m churning out this poetry, sometimes at three a day
This life it is so busy, and my days slip right away
I search to find a topic, an interest to exploit
I’ve written about loads of stuff, how 'bout Russell Coight

Australia’s rugged bushman, Alby Mangels without the chicks
He roams around the outback, as he uses bushman's tricks
To fight off all the critters, with venom in their fangs
Finding challenges almost everywhere, his life in his own hands

We chortle at his antics, and he fumbles through the days
Sets fire to his fireproof tent, his infalibility we praise
We all know it’s a miracle, that he is still alive
As he rambles all around the land, that now belongs to Clive

A cross between the Leyland’s, Harry Butler and Ben Cropp
Thinks nothing of a red back, or an humungous hungry crock
Not frightened of all the nasties, that we run from every day
The Bush Tucker Man and Malcolm, they'd have much to say

He a natural disaster, a catastrophe in khaki
He shies away from grubs and roots, preferring teriyaki
Been poisoned twenty two times, from berries that he’s eaten
But he will tell you very straight, his will shall not be beaten

So he loads up his Range Rover, ready for the next
Challenge in the desert, while we sit here perplexed
What is that thing he’s wearing, that’s perched upon his head
Wait, is it made of metal, good Lord, he think’s he’s Ned

No comments:

Post a Comment