I dreamed of traveling.
Didn’t you?
Over yonder mountains,
And miles of view.

How pleasant,
To look beyond,
The dirty stations,
And city bond.

A country train,
Fresh air and attack,
I’m going to Perth,
Don’t bring me back.

Want to be a policeman today?
Where the crims are right in every way,
And the Beak always seems to lean their way,
Punishment is a thing of the past I say.

Want to be a policeman today?
Where the law frustrates you in every way,
And the poor public is made to pay,
As the do-gooders have their say.

Want to be a policeman today?
Uphold decency and the rights of the lay,
Be extra gentle with those that are gay,
Make sure the minority has their say.

Want to be a policeman today?
I doubt that you’ll earn very good pay,
And there are very few hours a day to play,
Always on duty night and day.

Want to be a policeman today?
Prepared to accept what comes your way,
Cannot see justice and fair play,
A tough career come what may.

Want to be a policeman today?
And have your life in disarray,
With no thanks from day to day,
Find a new career that’s what I say.

Yes, I did once go to war,
He tearily told his son,
Sometimes your daddy,
Just had to up and run.

Shame struck the kid,
It was instant and so deep,
Doubtful from now on,
That he could ever sleep.

Leaving home tomorrow,
The kid told his saddened folks,
Absolute shame living here,
Just ask all the blokes.

He packed his bags forever,
Mother shed the tears,
Her eldest son was leaving,
For years, she’d held these fears.

In the driveway of his home,
He said goodbye for good,
He would play for Carlton,
His old man loved only Collingwood

Crippled, I dream’t of family,
Gone,
Hurt you, desert you, we will not.
Where are you now,
True to life,
Compensation,
Friends again,
Helpers now,
An invalid with money,
And so much to spend it on,
Spend it on me,
I am family, come live with me,
No hassle to me,
Brother I’ll see you right,
Heaps O’ money kid,
Show no fright.
I will crawl over hot coals,
For you,
As long as the bank is on the other side.

I’m a little bit lonesome,
Turning fifty one today,
No cards or letters,
Have found their way.

I’m a little bit blue,
Turning fifty one today,
It seems no one loves me,
How sad I say.

I’m a little bit miserable,
Turning fifty one today,
A milestone reached,
One should be gay.

I’m a little bit sad,
Turning fifty one today,
A real big party,
And my family’s away.

Volcanic peaks wildflowers lush,
Framed by crystalline sea,
A skinny coral landing strip,
Dazzling rainforest, pristine place to be.

Thick humidity everlasting,
Superb island state to see,
Jungle heat and unctuous scent,
Glorious Frangipani.

Starving mutts in numbers,
Too lethargic to bark,
Line the roadside like pilgrims,
And the islands soul is dark.

Trees bend double under load,
Of breadfruit and Papaya,
The sea dazzling and empty beckons,
But today not a player.

Parents and toddlers on their way,
To a funeral feast ahead,
The man in the crypt is very young,
Diabetes, an overwhelming dread.

Rapid Westernisation,
There is no famine here,
Just scourges of affluence,
And a future built on fear.

Aotearoa,
Land of the long white cloud,
Nieuw Zeeland,
And a Maori proud.

Unique land,
Aoraki, and his brothers,
Sons of Rakinui,
Sky father, their druthers.

Voyage around Papatuanuku,
Earth Mother, in a canoe,
Frozen in time,
The South Island is you.

Brothers and Crew,
Southern Alps to the sea,
New Zealand’s South Island,
Te Waka o Aoraki.

So, I’ll go Waltzing Matilda,
Can’t get into much trouble,
329,999 mates,
Nothing will burst our bubble.

60,000 gone, the aftermath of war,
Crippled, blind and some maim,
No more Waltzing Matilda for them
In their world, no Fame.

Society forever changed,
But man thinks he is free,
The world is at the crossroads,
Wherever that may be.

Survivors faced another battle,
So, we’ll go Waltzing Matilda once more,
The Hun is restless and relentless,
And the Japs are at the door.

Is the world really free?
Are the dead freer than most?
At least they’re Waltzing Matilda,
As we play the last post.

Republican River 1845,
Uncommonly handsome man,
Physically perfect,
Born warrior with plan.

While not the equal of Gall,
A true type of brave,
Highest ideal of the Sioux,
Too early to grave.

War against the Gros Ventres,
Leader, youth with heart,
Sixteen years of age then,
“Peerless” warrior set apart.

Custer’s last Stand,
Ta’ Shunke Witko to blame,
One of the greatest of Indians,
And deserved of fame.

Good old Tripod Mo,
Hunting cat minus toe.
Three-day bivouac,
Where did he go?
Gin trapping ho, ho, ho,
Flat foot oh, oh, oh,
Off with one leg,
And it’s slow, slow, slow,
Put him down, no, no, no,
Better three legs,
Than a cemetery row.