Eight teens six twenty twenty,
Aye, tis a land of plenty plenty.
We’ve holy wood and a pie rid mid,
Nothings rounds and everyone sick.
Watching all their volient rapes,
staring with their mouths agaped.
Paying for their priv-a-ledge,
of seeing women shed their pledge.
History re-in-act-ment shows,
conveying all those disturbing blows.
Heaven help where abhorant goes,
because down under is where it blows.
Country folk with hearts of gold,
heads filled with stories of olds.
Of cruel worlds and crueler men,
How can children think of when?
Why learn math at all?
Why try to find akashic law?
Please try and understand,
t’was three wise women who mangers him.
Burning bibles for blasphemy,
not holding hands for anatomy.
We keep the book but trash the story,
Reflecting on our land of glory.
Global pressures and climatic heat,
common senses that people wont tweet.
continue insulting intel-lig-ence,
Since there’s not such thing as hence.
Democracy republic social order,
liberal labour nothings boreder.
Greens and indepenents too,
wont select your prized kazoo.