G'day,

bbc is after Aussie songs and poems about animals. Well, here is a poem by my mate, John Warner, about that most Australian animal The Bunyip (the Aboriginal haunter of bog and billabong). John is a wonderful singer/songwriter and covers a lot of territory - including great songs for kids. Have a look at this site run by Mudcat's Mandola Man: Walters and Warner.
THE BUNYIP IN THE SLACK TUB
John Warner ©
I'll tell you of a blacksmith cove,'
My word you can rely on,
He kept a forty-gallon cask,
To quench the red hot iron,
'Twas made of goodly oaken staves,
Well hooped about the chime,
He'd never seen it less than full,
Since his grandfather's time.

One day he forged a wagon bar,
Of a piece of three by one,
He quenched it in the slack tub,
Pulled it out and half was gone,
And as he looked upon it,
And his hoary head did shake,
He blinked and then looked closer,
There were tooth marks round the break.

Tooth marks in good Port Kembla steel,
The shaken smith did stare.
Then looked into the bubbling cask,
"What's going on in there?".
I dread to tell what next befell,
For to him it did seem,
Sulphurous smelling bubbles rose
And globs of purple steam.

A fat, green, bulbous head arose,
With horns of dreadful size,
All dripping with a noxious slime,
Then two atrocious eyes,
The blacksmith, he turned white with fright,
As if he'd seen a ghost,
As if near death, he gasped for breath,
And slumped against a post.

"G'day mate!" said the bunyip,
"I've come here to complain.
The muck that's piled up in your tub,
Has caused me grief and pain:
'There's no room for my family there,
With all your junk about,
Remember long this bunyip's words,
Clean up or else, WATCH OUT!"

The smith, the striker and their mates
All heaved with might and main,
And ninety year old water sloshed and
Gurgled down the drain.
There were nuts and bolts and wagon tyres,
They spread from wall to wall,
But as for bunyips, when they looked,
There were none there at all.

This poor old blacksmith spends his days,
Around at Ryan's pub.
He wanders round the tap room,
Puts an ear to every tub,
And visitors may wonder
What it is he wants to hear,
He's making sure no bunyip's there,
Before they draw his beer.

Regards,

Bob Bolton^^

link fixed by a joe clone