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2017 Shiraz

You’d think I’d learn not to open my mouth

As things soon turned bad down south.


The paddocks that were lush & green

Now not a blade of grass to be seen.


Rain a distant memory from the past

Constant howlin’ gales from an Arctic blast.


Sheep worth money finding new ways to die

Cattle still skinny no matter how hard you try.


Howlin’ gales, we’re getting our share

My dream now, a bloody nightmare!



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