Christine's Butter Cake with Lemon Icing

Down ‘round Lake Macquarie,

Where the breezes sweep and sway;

There’s a little bushfire station,

Where they work and train and play.

A crazy bunch of misfits,

With their big red bushfire tankers;

They’re known both far and wide,

As: the local ‘Arawankers!’

They’re wary of outsiders,

- A lot are on the dole;

But most of all they really hate,

Those from Fire Control.

The ‘white shirts’ are their enemies,

Because of all the rules;

They rant and rave and lecture,

And treat them just like like fools!

But the good old Arawankers,

Do things a different way,

And when the bushfires crest the hill,

They always save the day!

One day a sheila drifted in,

To join their happy band;

With a special typed up letter,

Held in her skinny hand.

She said she was at Uni,

To help them she would try;

But the hard-nosed Arawankers,

Thought she was a spy!

They were even more suspicious when,

Up she turned one day;

With a dirty great big lemon cake,

Propped up on a tray.

Now firies don’t eat lemon cake,

They say its poofter food;

To bring one is insulting and,

At very least, quite rude.

For them it’s chips and scallops,

Chicko rolls and lots of booze,

Buckets of your KFC;

Followed by a snooze!

“She’s gotta go,” the Captain said,

“That tart is downright rude:”

“How can we face the smoke and flames,

“With a gutful of her food?”

So Christine wrote her thesis,

For the university,

She got a gown, a funny hat,

And a bushfire PhD.

But down at Lake Macquarie,

It’s for sex and drugs they hanker;

It’s always been that way;

With the mob from Arawanker.

One thing does however,

Make them laugh and roll and shake;

It’s when they talk of Christine,

And her bloody lemon cake!