I love a sunburnt country, a land of sausage rolls,
Of pavlovas and lamingtons, behinds and points and goals.
A land where leftist judges can't burp behind the scenes,
whilst criminals of upper class are skimming off the cream.
This was a land of mateship once, it used to be true blue.
Now our very good friend America is telling us what to do.

I love a sunburnt for'head, aland of blistered skin.
A land of "How's it going mate? Ya gettin' any in?"
Where wallabies and gum trees are both the farmer's curse.
A land of get big, or get out, it can't get any worse.
We used to own this country once, we stole it, from the blacks.
Now speculators buy some every time we turn our backs.

I love a sunburnt wiplash, a pond of muddy silt,
of clear felled mountain ranges, and never any guilt.
A land where laser farming grows wheat that we can't sell,
And the drought struck sheep we're sitting on, they all get shot as well.
I love her Lend Lease store fronts. All our towns look the same.
Same supermarts, same K-Marts, just different suburb names.
And when the sun sets smogly, through dust and gas and smoke,
We light a fag, and have a beer, and wonder why we're broke
But
I love an unburnt country. One not razed to the ground.
I love its sights. I love its smells. I love those natural sounds;
Its motor mowers and trail bikes, low flying planes and boats,
And rock singers with microphones, ripping out their throats.
From Darwin 'round to Cape York everything looks swell.
It's the bargain of our lifetime. Bloody pity we have to sell!

2nd August 1986