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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