A tragic famine fell upon the land,

The reasons why are dim and still unclear;

They passed a law and called it “contraband”

A bloke could not obtain a drink of beer.

The wailing echoed long into the night,

Sad dirges sung by bum and balladeer;

Much wine was drunk but somehow it weren’t right,

A man just ain’t a man without a beer.

Some jumped up on their soapboxes and screamed,

Demanding that this dearth must disappear;

While others stared at bottle tops and dreamed

Of days not long ago, when there was beer.

A drover from the Snowy came and cried,

Said: “What’s the use to be a mountaineer?

A horseman may as well go citified

If at the end of muster there’s no beer!”

Ten shearers rode to town at season’s end,

When told the news they seemed to go all queer;

Burned down the pub, they couldn’t comprehend

That some malignant bastard banned the beer.

The courts were full of blokes, from toffs to bums,

A record served in sentences that year;

Just shows the consequence of home-made rums,

They should have all had access to the beer.

We marched from Sydney right to Melbourne Town,

The temperance ladies watched us with a sneer;

A few men couldn’t take it and broke down,

They would have made it – if they’d had some beer.

In Carlton at the brewery gates we stalled,

The line of coppers cried “What have we here?

A bunch of alcoholics? We’re appalled!

Disperse, you bums, you can’t have any beer!”

A politician came and gave a speech,

A putrid, patronizing atmosphere;

The lads and I decided we would teach

These mongrels that a man must have his beer!

I winked at my best mate, he wished me luck,

I sneaked around the back to commandeer

My favorite toy – a two-ton forklift truck!

Then went to search the factory for beer.

I heard the C.E.O. – the voice of doom:

“Get off that jigger!” - Loud, but insincere;

Ignoring him I went to find the room

That held our Holy Grail: our cans of beer.

I bashed through walls and doors without a thought,

I laughed, a modern, madcap buccaneer;

A secretary screamed (a real good sort)

But nowhere could I find a trace of beer.

One door was padlocked, chained with bolted stud,

I sniffed the air and knew my goal was near;

Somewhere behind that bugger was a flood –

A hundred thousand cartons of cold beer.

My eyes turned red, I revved the fork to max,

And thought of Aussie greats of yesteryear;

I popped the clutch and left two blackened tracks,

And sped towards the door that hid the beer.

I bounced right off, that door not meant to shift,

Then inspiration threw a good idea:

I had a fork lift truck, and I could LIFT...

I pulled the lever, dreaming of a beer.

The door was up and gone, I peered inside,

Was it the dust that made me shed a tear?

I think because my eyes were staring wide

At stacks and stacks of pallet-loads of beer!

I drove back to the boys a happy man,

A tipsy grin soon spread from ear to ear;

I’d foiled the mongrel corporation plan

To keep us Aussie workers from our beer.

We smashed each factory lock and found it all,

The walls resounded with a drunken cheer;

We held the boss a hostage, got the call:

The Government agreed to free the beer.

We won the battle, now the pub taps pour,

I kept a silver can – a souvenir;

That day we overturned that dreadful law,

And each took home a barrow load of beer!

 more of my FUNNY POEMS here