Gone to the Dogs

We’ve lost our faith in parliament

The state is in decline,
The democratic process,
Has become a waste of time.

They spend our hard earned taxes,
To yell, scream and debate,
And they do so little really,
That a dog could run the state.

Now having dogs in parliament,
Might seem quite strange to you,
But I’ll tell you of a time,
Quite long ago when it came true.

Brett Thomson was farmer,
And somewhat of a recluse,
He lived just out of Boggan,
With his trusty sheep dog, Bruce.

He had a flair for running things,
And soon his intuition,
Told him he should leave the farm,
And be a politician.

Now the paperwork, was complex,
(Or at least that’s Brett’s excuse)
Cos where he had to put his name,
He put his dogs name, ‘Bruce’.

The old member was retiring,
(He was nearing sixty eight),
And so it seemed that Bruce
Would be the only candidate.

With no-one to oppose him,
And no way to be beat,
The votes all went to Bruce,
And he won the Boggan seat.

And so Bruce entered Parliament,
A sacred oath he swore,
By sitting on a bible,
And raising up his paw.

His back bench at Macquarie Street,
Was soon looking like home,
With his old flea-ridden blanket,
Bowl of water and a bone.

And so there’s now a brand new kennel,
At the end of Thomson’s Lane,
Where the sign above the door says
“Bruce the Sheepdog, M.L.A.”

© Copyright A Jack 1984

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