The Quest for Roo-Tail Soup

As read by the author.

I’d been scoffing tucker, down on the Nambucca,
And felt like a good wholesome feed,
I’d been getting fatter, while at Coolangatta,
And ate all the fish in the Tweed.

I thought I’d go west, where the food is the best,
And give up champagne and crumbed veal,
And get far away from the Lobster mornay,
To have me a decent bush meal.

I set off to Bourke, to look for some work,
But the main thing that coursed me to troop,
Was that somebody bet, that I couldn’t get,
A serving of roo tail soup.

I’d bet with a mate, that by some certain date,
I’d be eating roo tail soup,
“No restaurant has roo, the greenies would sue,
You won’t get as much as a scoop”

I left on my trek, to acquire his cheque,
The thought dominated my mind,
I’ll go without sleep, my promise to keep,
That roo tail soup I will find.

Through Parkes and Moree, Tamworth and Taree,
Through Dubbo, Forbes and Dunedoo,
But each place I go, the waiter says “No,
We just do not serve kangaroo.”

I tramped on in vane, through sun, wind and rain,
Determined to fulfil my wish,
Cos one day I knew, I’d be served with roo,
And I’d eat my marsupial dish.

I found a wee pub, way out in the scrub,
Which I thought might have the rare meat,
“You got kangaroo?” “We certainly do,
Now what would you like for your sweets?”

Then the barman said “Hell, no I sorry to tell,
But we don’t have that soup on the shelf,
It’s getting quite late, but if you cannot wait,
You’ll have to go make it yourself.”

He gave me a gun, and a knife just for fun,
“The kangas are down in that grove,
I doubt that you’ll fail, to bring back a tail,
I’ll have water hot on the stove.

So quickly I walked, then quietly stalked,
Down to where the roos were residing,
I saw straight away, a tall male grey,
I thought I would give him a hiding,

I jumped from the bush, and gave him a push,
Then gave him a half Nelson hold,
With a quick upper cut, from my rifle butt,
I soon had that kanga out cold.

I found that my blade was as blunt as a spade,
The tail I started to slice,
I was covered in blood, and roo meat and crud,
I tell you it wasn’t that nice.

I stumbled and mumbled and fumbled and rumbled and tumbled my way through the scrub,
Having brawled and been mauled, I called as I crawled and sprawled back into the pub.

All battered and bruised and needing some booze,
I showed them the tail I got,
“You don’t want it spoiled, I’ve got water boiled,
So go put it into the pot.

The tail when cooked, smelt as good as it looked,
I ate until I had a jawful,
But to tell you no lie, I thought I’d die,
Cos roo-tail soup’s BLOODY AWFUL.

So if you’re out in the mallee, where kangaroos rally,
This ditty should keep you forewarned,
If a roo with no tail hops over your trail,
At least you’ll know why he’s deformed.

© copyright A Jack 1983

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