Aussie Barbeque

When the summer sun is shinin' on Australia's happy land,
Round countless fires in strange attire stands many a solemn band
Of plumb Australians watchin' their lunch go up in flames;
by the smoke and smell you can plainly tell that it's barbie time again!

The Scotsman likes his haggis, the French eat snails and frogs,
The Greeks go crackers over their moussakas, and the Chinese love hot dogs,
The Welshmen like to have a leek, the Irish love their stew,
But you just can't beat that half-cooked meat in an Aussie barbeque!

The fly's stuck to the margarine, the bread has gone rock-hard,
The kids are fighting, and the musses(?) are biting;
who forgot the aeroguard ?
There's bull-ants in the Eskie, and the beer is runnin' out,
And what you saw in Mom's cole slaw you just don't think about.

And when the barbie's over, and yer homeward way ye wend,
With a queasy tummy on the family dun(?) the many lonely hours you'll spend.
You might find yourself reflecting, as many often do,
Come rain or shine, that's the bloody last time that you'll have a barbeque !

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