The Shearer’s Lament


IAN LOCK

26 Mayfield Rd
Moorooka QLD
1995

 

The Shearer’s Lament

 

I was shearing outback, by a wayside track,
Where there’s never a thing that pleases,
Where the pines are tall and the gins are small,
What a cunt of a place, by Jesus.

I was run-arse first, as we fucked and cursed,
To the sheep, to the shed, to the engine,
The penner-up had a sure eyed pup and the murderers kept us ringing.

The expert cunt had the tools all blunt,
And the headgear shook to pieces,
But I kept my pace in that louse-bound place,
And minced up the fuckin’ fleeces.

I hamstrung more than me pen-mate shore,
And it was ‘all go’, while it lasted,
The rouseabout was a Pommy lout,
And the Boss was a hungry bastard.

He wanted more wool, so he made us pull,
We fuckin’ near had to scrape ’em;
Gawd strike me blue, what a man should do?
Go jump on the bastards and rape ’em?

I was sick and sore of that fuckin’ whore,
He was one of those cunts that grizzles,
So I took a set on these stags of his,
And littered the board with their pizzles.

The rams they’d fetch, made our arseholes stretch,
Like an old gin’s cunt when you squeeze her,
My pen-mate strained, with his shirttail stained,
And his arse went off like a geyser.

How the Boss would rip, with his tin of dip,
He was up to his knees in maggots,
But little did he know, that with one mighty blow,
I took off his prize rams aggots.

The presser ‘Slim’ had a mind of quim.
His bales were all fucked and broken,
So the classer swine, made up his time,
And tracked him as a farewell token.

The greasy cook had a sore-eyed look,
All covered in scabs and rashes,
He stuffed our holes with his half-baked rolls,
And would have poisoned Christ with his hashes.

So, if you find me back in that louse bound shack,
I’ll be broke to the world and cringin’
You can jam the lot, up your dirty black twat,
And start with the fuckin’ engine.

 

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