CLANCY'S BROTHER BILL
| My brother Bill left the farm real young He'd lived down in Sydney for years I knew that the city would change him And I soon justified all my fears "Come down and visit" he begged me "And an education I'll give." "I'll take you to ballet and opry and stuff Then you'll see how the better half live." Bill told me we'd mix with the Sydney 'Cream' And he asked me to be well dressed So I proudly donned a checked flannel shirt And those home-made jeans were my best Bill chauffeured me in his Mercedes And I know that they don't come cheap But I'd have no use for that thing on my farm It would only hold two or three sheep First, he took me out to his swank new home A three-story modern beast With the lawn he grew in his front yard I could run six cows at least The visit got off to a very bad start 'Cause Bill wasn't pleased at all When I asked him who had splattered the mess In the frame that hung on the wall He claimed it was a masterpiece Of a country bushland scene But, it sure didn't look like the country In any damn place that I've been "Impressionistic" he tried to explain In a voice as proud as could be But the way that artist had splashed his paint I don't think he'd seen a tree When I told him trees didn't look like that His face was masked with a frown He roughly grabbed me by the arm And hustled me into town He swore that he'd educate me His patience was wearing thin But if he claimed that painting of his was art Then I reckoned his chances were slim "We're off to the ballet, first" he said Then he made a nasty remark "They won't let you in while the lights are on We'll have to sneak in when its dark" When I asked him what the problem was He was honest without a qualm "They're the same damn clothes I've seen you wear When you're milking cows on the farm!" I found his words very hurtful My feelings were sorely pained "Well, it seems to suit the cows" I huffed "Not one of them has complained" Bill announced this ballet was named 'Swan Lake' With excitement I couldn't respond 'Cause I didn't have much interest In some overgrown ducks on a pond It's the silliest play I ever watched 'Cause the players could not be heard The band played their music much too loud And I didn't hear one word The poor men suffered in agony They hopped and leaped all night I could see their problem immediately Their trousers were much too tight The women all suffered discomfort With faces all ghostly white They flittered and fluttered all over the place But there wasn't a 'bathroom' in sight And all of their shoes were much too small And you know how a tight shoe feels They tottered around on their toes all night I think they had blistered heels Those women could never do farm work They're not the wife that a farmer seeks They were all too thin and so delicate Like they hadn't eaten for weeks I don't know what they were doing there They're the sickliest mob that I've found Its an honest fact that they nearly collapsed And the men had to carry them 'round Though the leading lady was much too thin She looked a real loveable pet So I asked brother Bill to tell me her name Now I've named my best cow Odette Then I caught a glimpse of our new P.M. He was sitting there looking so proud So I stood up and waved my hands to him And yelled his name out loud But the stuck-up bugger ignored me And it brought a lump to my throat So I hollered out in my loudest voice "That's the last time you'll get my vote." I think it embarrassed my brother Bill 'cause he yanked me off my feet Then he pulled his head in like a turtle And hid behind a seat There was not a sign of a feathered bird And our tickets cost hefty bucks So I demanded to know in a very loud voice "Where the hell are the ducks?" Bill warned if I yelled out just once more I would never see him again His face was glowing a real bright red He appeared to be under some strain Since I couldn't hear a word they spoke I guessed I had nothing to lose So I settled back and closed my eyes And had an enjoyable snooze The next night we went to the 'Opry' And I swear from where I sat Though the ballet people were all too thin Most of these seemed to be too fat The ballet mob spoke too softly But these nearly brought me to tears They yelled and screamed in a torturous way And they damn near ruptured my ears And they muttered in some foreign 'lingo' Each time they attempted to sing I think Bill called it Italian I didn't understand a damn thing Though Bill understood the Opry It didn't give me much fun He knows I can't speak Italian We should have went to an 'Aussie' one The main man was real big and beefy But, there'd be no strength in his arm And I wouldn't give him a second thought To hire him to work on my farm They continued to squark and holler and scream 'Til they had my nerves plumb beat I began to feel my temper rise And squirmed around in my seat "When will this torture be ended?" I asked My nerve ends were coiled up like springs And a toffee-nosed bloke chuckled sourly "Not 'til the fat lady sings." I tried to hold my temper down Though I tried, it was just no use So I promptly gave him a clip in the ear And a real choice string of abuse Then this great, hefty woman decided to sing And she really went to town So I stood up and yelled some advice to her "Try to hold the damn noise down." She ignored me and kept on screaming She was holding a shield and a spear So I hollered out in my angriest voice "Lady, you've fractured my ear!" I noticed that Bill had gone missing He'd been missing for most of the night He kept dashing off to the Gent's Room. I assumed that his kidneys weren't right By the time the thing got to interval My mood was a real angry black So when the others applauded I stood up and turned my back My action made Bill very angry I think its the worst that he's been And the language that he let fly at me Created a heck of a scene Then a couple of bouncers with stiff, white shirts Escorted us to the door They said they found us disgusting But, I'm damned if I know what for Bill was the angriest thing I'd seen Since that unbroken horse that I rode His face was fuming a crimson red And I feared his brain would explode Though both of us were shown the door It was me that copped all the blame Bill screamed he was so embarrassed He intended changing his name I couldn't calm the bugger down My efforts were all in vain I could see that I'd worn out my welcome So I caught the first damn train These days brother Bill doesn't talk to me Our kinship went up in smoke He can keep his 'civilised' city I'm a damn proud country bloke He can stick that damn Opry squarking The memory of it still sours My missus has a much better voice When she's calling home the cows And that stupid damn ballet rubbish They reckon their dancing is neat Well, they ought to see the steps I can do To dodge a herd of pigs feet Of that intellectual hogwash I don't have a single doubt It should be called 'ineffectual' Its stuff I can do without Don't ever mention 'Art' to me Or Opry or silent ballet That stuff is only for loafers It just wastes a working man's day So If anyone talks of 'Art' to me I'll scare him right out of his wits I'll give him a jab with my cattle prod And right on the spot where he sits. K.D. Abbott © 2007 |
| NOTES: P.M. : Prime Minister Lingo: Language Missus: Wife Hefty bucks: A lot of money Cattle prod: An electric rod used for moving stubborn cattle.. |
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