Category Archives: music

Scott Morrison’s ‘Hallelujah’


The unsung verse (sorry Leonard)

I got the job, I lied for it
With patsy Pete, a piece of shit
The party conned and smirking more I fooled you
And even though I have no clue
I’ll speak in tongues, and nothing’s true
And answering everything with Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Image

Another Brick (To Throw At Me)


Pink Wall

From My Youth


One of the first songs which was taught to me in music classes at primary school.

And reinforced at the knee of my grandmother who played it on her piano.

Creative Country


I haven’t watched this for a while and

so was not expecting the eyes to drip, once again,

at the creation of sheer aural and visual beauty.

Australian Immigration as Comic Opera


I am the very model of an  Immigation Ministermajor gen2
I’m just a jumped up scheming governmental choristor
I know the Abbott’s attitude and all his quotes political
From stopping boats to grabbing perks I find it all satirical
I’m very well acquainted too with matters very nautical
I understand the gulags, and off shore ones are predictable
And you should know that when I say a “NO” you may as well just flee
Although that social media finds stuff you’re not allowed to see.

With Christian educationings I’m such a pure and pretty sight
I’m very good at politics and booking all those freebie flights
In short I’m just a scheming governmental choristor
I am the very model of an Immigation Minister.

I know about our murky past, of yellow hordes and genocidemajor gen5
Answering easy questions, from harder ones I’ll run and hide
I quote each week about the boats and new arrival numberings
And hope that all the voterings do not awake from slumberings
The Three-Star Generals work for me, they rewrite rules upon the seas
Ignoring threats of penalties and forcing men to piracies
While pushing all the boundaries of diplomatic nicities
Creating legal entities to carry out atrocities.

And sneering at the lower ranks and putting jolly tars at risk
At cutting out their compensation you will find I’m very brisk
In short I’m just a scheming governmental choristor
I am the very model of an Immigration Minister.

In fact, I’ll never talk about on-water matters you may hearmajor gen1
I can tell at once from sight a uniform and civvies gear
With such affairs as pressers with questions I’m more wary at,
And know precisely what is meant by issuing a caveat
I wish that we could use all our marvellous modern gunnery
‘stead of feeling I’m living like a  novice in a nunnery
While buying boats just has to be our fundamental strategy
I’ll take some time to practice burning Tony ‘Bott in effigy

For all my nasty schemery, I’m into private dreamery
And longing for some quieter times, back in the eighteenth century
But still I’m just a scheming governmental choristor
I am the very model of an Immigration Minister.

major gen3

With apologies to Messers Gilbert & Sullivan.

Lets Pour a Libation for Solstice


There was three kings into the east,
three kings both great and high,
and they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn must die.

They took a plough and plough’d him down,
put clods upon his head,
and they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on’
and show’rs began to fall.
John Barleycorn got up again,
and sore surprised them all.

The sultry suns of Summer came,
and he grew thick and strong;
his head well arm’d wi’ pointed spears,
that no one should him wrong.

The sober Autumn enter’d mild,
when he grew wan and pale;
his bendin’ joints and drooping head
show’d he began to fail.

His colour sicken’d more and more,
and he faded into age;
and then his enemies began
to show their deadly rage.

They took a weapon, long and sharp,
and did cut off his head;
they ty’d him fast upon a cart,
like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
and cudgell’d him full sore.
they hung him up before the storm,
and turn’d him o’er and o’er.

They filled up a darksome pit
with water to the brim,
they heav’d in John Barleycorn.
There, let him sink or swim!

They laid him upon the floor,
to work him farther woe;
and still, as signs of life appear’d,
they toss’d him to and fro.

They wasted o’er a scorching flame
the marrow of his bones;
but a miller us’d him worst of all,
for he crush’d him between two stones.

And they hae taen his very hero blood
and drank it round and round;
and still the more and more they drank,
their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
of noble enterprise;
for if you do but taste his blood,
’twill make your courage rise.

‘Twill make a man forget his woe;
’twill heighten all his joy;
’twill make the widow’s heart to sing,
tho the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
each man a glass in hand;
and may his great posterity
ne’er fail in old Scotland!

This Song Is Of Ill Repute


For decades this song has been hated and feared by the 1%.

It is the song for us, the 99%.