Tenth of the second,
twenty twenty,
How is dears,
In the land of plenty.
You’ve plenty of smoke,
Plenty of dust,
Plenty of rain,
Plenty of rust.
They say down under,
is the place to be,
But maybe respect comes,
From all of our trees.
Our furry creatures,
Laying about,
Caught in fences,
Seen scurrying out.