The Man From Muddy River

There was movement down in Langley for the word had passed around
That the bug from old Wuhan had got away,
And was out among the people, this was worth a trillion pound,
So all the sharks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and trusted grifters from the parties near and far,
Had mustered on the sat phones overnight,
For the cabal love hard ruling where the wild bush people are,
And the stock mart snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Morrison, who made his pile when Saatchi won the deal
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could run beside him when his blood ran blue and teal - 
He would go wherever cash and man could go.
And Albo of the Undertow came down to lend a hand,
No better oppo ever held the reins;
For never pal could stab him when all protest was banned,
He learned to scheme while mum alone him raised.

And one was there, a hunchback from a broke and broken state,
He was something like a monster from a dream,
With a touch of one-trick pony - three parts lizard man I'd rate,
And such as would make little children scream.
He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say why - 
There was hubris in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of evil in his dull and lifeless eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so bent and creepy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, "You, runt, will never do
For a long a tiring battle - mate, you'd better stop away,
Those rules are far too tough for such as you."
So he waited sad and wistful - only Albo stood his friend - 
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his pride and wrath are ego bred.

"He hails from Muddy River, down by Port Philip's side,
Where the bills are twice as much and twice as oft,
Where a punter's home is chilly and the potholes deep and wide,
The man that holds his own is never scoffed.
And the Muddy River settlers on the bayside make their home,
Where the river runs those sports grounds in between;
I've seen full many battlers since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such battlers have I seen."

So he went - they found the public by the big memorial shrine - 
They raced away towards the King's Domain.
And the old man gave his orders, "Boy's, now's your time to shine,
To try for social distance now is vain.
And, Albo, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Rule boldly, lad, and never fear the polls,
For never yet was pollie that could hold the mob in fright,
If once they know the truth behind the goals."

So Albo ruled to lock them - he was ruling on the wing
Where the worst and awful rulers take their place,
And he raced his Cabinet past them, and he made the valleys ring
With the lockdowns, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded test,
But they saw their well-loved gardens full in view,
And they charged around the coppers, never thought of needing rest,
And off into the shady trees they flew.

Then fast the coppers followed, where in clothing deep and black
They pounded out a tattoo with their tread,
And the bullets woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From satellites and choppers overhead.
And onward ever onward, the wild punters held their way,
Where botanic plants and lawn and lake grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely "We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them once they get inside."

When they neared the garden entrance even Albo took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The ornate plants grew thickly and the tender ground was full
Of beauty told, and any sin was death.
But the man from Muddy River let his goon squad have their head,
And swung his truncheon round and gave a cheer,
And they kettled them and shot them and watched them as they bled,
While the others stood and watched without a fear.

They sent the branches falling, but the good squad kept their feet,
They cleared the fallen wounded in their stride,
And the man from Muddy River almost shitted in his seat - 
He was so pumped up and full of lustful pride.
Through the statues and the fountains, on the smooth and close-mown mounds,
Round the pavements at a racing pace they went;
And they never holstered weapons till they had them on the ground,
At the bottom of that terrible dissent.

He was right among the chieftans as they signed another Bill,
And the watchers from the towers standing mute,
Saw them ply the weapons fiercely, though most had fallen still,
Still they never showed no mercy in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two camera crews had met
In the roadway, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant stage set the pandemic orders get
A fresh and crushing update ring of steel.

And he beat them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he locked them in their home,
And alone and unassisted made them crack.
His toady chief health officer could scarcely raise a curfew,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the fear,
But his pluck was still undaunted and his courage stirred anew,
When told who was Victorian of the Year.

And down by Philip's Bayside, where the sand-belt courses raise
Their bunkers and their lateral hazards wide,
Where the clubrooms and committees, and the member panels gaze
The applications merits to decide,
And where around the Undertow the cliff top mansions rendered
Get roads rebuilt and driven t'ward the view,
The man from Muddy River is a full on country member,
Do we remember? You bet we do.

Apologies to Banjo Paterson,