| ARTHUR McARTHUR TELLS IT HOW IT IS | ||||||||||||||||||||||
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| KEVIN RUDD CHUCKS A FIT | ||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Can somebody spot me over here
I�m gonna bench press 140, Pass the dumbbells while you�re at it, Don�t scoff, I�m feeling haughty. Look at my abs, they�re bulging, And my delts are seriously rock hard, Now I reckon I�m strong enough To stand up to Julia Gillard. I�ll show �big red� that I�m the boss, I�ll come out throwing punches, Now come on, grab that medicine ball, I�m up for fifty crunches. I can�t believe how hard my biceps are, And my pecs are as heavy as lead, And I�ve really built up my trapezius, To carry around my massive head. |
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| There once was man from Brissie,
Who did nothing whilst trying to look busy, When the voters were asked, They threw him out on his arse, He didn�t see that coming, did he?! The people realised this man Kevin Rudd, Was nothing more than a vacuous dud, Full of self-congratulation, Seeking constant adulation, His policies and ideas were just crud. So while Rudd tried to remain firm, He had a way of making people squirm, With his stupid cheesy grin, And policies paper thin, He was gone after one disatrous term. |
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| A Christmas poem to Andrew�s readers,
About Australia�s two main political leaders. One a successful ex-merchant banker, The other a weasel, a liar, a wanker. One a successful, likeable bloke, The other a megalomaniac, sending us broke. So as we settle in for our Christmas dish, We�ll all be granted one wish. Do we wish for peace or an end to starvation? Or do we wish that Rudd stops ruining our nation? We�ll all pray for world peace, no doubt, But let�s also pray the Libs pull their fingers out. And expose Rudd�s incomepetence as something to fear, So we can have a Happy New Year! |
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