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!