My old Bakelite radio's still working,
I've had it forever so long,
Listening while cooling my palate,
In my Stubbies, old singlet and thongs.
The breeze is shivering the Bangalows,
Look fuzzy through the fly wire door,
Something stirs the fronds of the tree fern,
Causing my tasting to pause.
Strewth! It's a monster Mosquito,
Proboscis like a watering can spout,
It's doubtless my glazed eyes are aging,
But, I swear it is beckoning me out.
I was tapping my thongs to the wireless,
Playing, “I've got you under my skin!”
Must have stirred up the mozzies intentions,
It's bashing the door to get in.
The mozzie is looking me over like Dracula,
But, the “Tinnies” give me cast iron will,
My eyeballs start spinning like Pokies,
The bugger's at the security grille!
His hose nose is furiously working,
As fast as a flared oxy torch,
There's no doubt in my mind he's invading,
The peace of my Queenslander porch!
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He buzzes away while he's gnawing,
Like a finely tuned circular saw,
Just time to grab a cold “Tinny”,
As he wriggles his way through the door!
He's drooling and ogling my jugular,
He reckons it shouldn't take long,
I try standing up to confront him,
But, I'm suffering from wobbly thong.
He unfolds the wings of a Jumbo,
Zeroes in on my perspiring neck,
The left thong is used as a swatter,
Down he goes, a quivering wreck.
His eyeballs are going in circles,
Proboscis tied in a knot,
Hairy legs clutching at clear air,
He finally realises his lot.
I gave him a kick with my right foot
His ultimate bloody swansong,
Gallons of gore on the driveway,
Now there's blood on the wobbly thong.
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