The Apres Skier

(To the tune ‘Ryebuck Shearer’)

I’m from the north shore,
My name’s McGrath,
I’ve got stocks and skis,
On the roof of my car,
They’re permanently welded, I don’t ski very far,
Because I’m an Apres skier.

Each year in July,
It’s four weeks off work,
I go down the snow,
And act like a jerk,
Up and down the Alpine Way,
Cruising in my Merc,
Of course I’m an Apres skier.

Well I don’t like downhill,
Or cross country treks,
They go out fit men,
And they come back like wrecks,
I only go to Thredbo,
Because I’m after sex,
They call that an Apres skier.

With Swiss-made gloves,
And bib and brace,
I bought all this gear,
From the most expensive place,
I always look so trendy,
And set the fashion pace,
That’s normal for Apres skiers.

Well I don’t …

The seasons gone,
I pack up my gear,
Then down to the pub,
For one final beer,
I haven’t skied an inch,
I’ll be back again next year,
That makes me an Apres skier.

© Copyright A Jack 1985

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