The War Veteran.
The war was o’er and the troops de-mobbed
and Brumby hit the track.
His home was on the western plains
along the road out-back.
He thought he’d better get a job,
his Army days must cease.
He’d won the cotton pickin’ war,
he now must win the peace.
The local council signed him on,
this was the work he chose.
“Give us the tools, we’ll do the job.”
Churchill used words like those.
Now Brumby was a pleasant bloke,
he wasn’t hard to please
His life held many things he liked,
Work wasn’t one of these!
No need to rush the flamin’ job
he’d often tell the men
He’d quote the poets pen.
When payday came he lead the queue,
his pay pack looked quite fat,
“They’ve realized my worth” he crowed,
“No ruddy doubt of that.”
No extra pay he found inside,
But folded t’wards the back
a large official letter said
they’d given him the sack.
And other things wer
to make his sacking novel.
Three photos of himself he found
a-leaning on his shovel.
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