So it goes,
Nearly made it,
On the nose,
Your chances faded,
And looking backwards, you wish it wasn’t so,
You jog round Manly, and think no no no no….
Run, Abbott, run, Abbott, run, run, run,
Keep running, keep dodging, run, run, run,
Don’t think how soon you’ll be in the gun,
Run, Abbott, quick, grab it, now, old son.
Run, Abbott, run, Abbott, run like mad,
Keep swearing, declaring you’ve been had:
You won last time, you’re the coming lad,
Gut fishes, wash dishes, don’t be sad.
Question Time,
Boots and all now,
Filth and slime,
Will hit the wall now,
And every rumour you can spread about
You will shriek before you scramble out.
Run, Abbott, run, Abbott, seize the day,
Keep lying, denying that you’re gay,
Don’t think how there will be hell to pay,
Run, Abbott, cut, stab it, that’s the way.
Run, Abbott, run, Abbott, run, run, run,
Keep running, keep dodging, smile, have fun,
Don’t think how soon you’ll be in the gun,
Run, Abbott, quick, grab it, now, old son.
Name:
Bob, I have a recently purchased copy of Goodbye Jerusalem that I would like pulped. Can you advise the best course of action?
See if you can get a 2 for 1 deal and I’ll send you my copy.
Seriously Bob, this delusional championing of Thomson and your bizzare predictions that the whole murky affair will somehow result in the demise of Abbot is becoming damaging.
I’m no huge fan of Abbot, but still….
It was a little rushed… but here we go…
On the town, every Friday
On the town, its brothel sly day.
So, every Friday that ever comes along,
ol Thomo get his pants back on and sing this little song
Run Comrade, Run Comrade,
Run, Run, Run
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh goes the workers’ mope
Run Comrade, Run Comrade
Run Run Run
Run Comrade, Run Comrade
Run, Run, Run
Keep cleaning and emptying
there’s scouring to be done
Oh come on don’t be questioning
give Ol Thomo his fun, fun, fun
He won’t get by without his brothel sly
So Run Comrade, Run Comrade, Run, Run, Run
What is this utter crap? The accusation was twice 7 years ago.
Jesus christ right wingers are deranged.
Verily Nostradamus, a fairly talented respondent, could not come up with three of my predictions that in forty years proved wrong and managed only one.
He has accordingly been banned for life.
Good work Marilyn, keeping it classy and sane. Get back in the metho with Bob
That comment adds a thousand years to your sentence.
I am leaving it up to show the readership why.
Let the Blue Jean Baby live.
It’s true, Marilyn – no matter how many Refugees she’s saved -
Needs to
Wash her mouth out
With Soap.
Fuck off.
Ha
Ha.
Perfect,
Thank you
R1.
You do read
a script
to Perfection.
Bob I throw myself at your mercy, and request the equivalent of a section 10 of the Crimes Act – you gave me until the end of the day. I will find three more – starting with your prediction Mark ‘Armbreaker’ Latham would be PM.
Dear Bob
Here is the link to a performance of Run Rabbit Run. Check out this video on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVdoZNxtL8k&feature=youtube_gdata_player
Just click the link and enjoy.
Joan xxx
“Run Rabbit Run”
Draft suicide note by Craig Thomson
using the Eminem Run Rabbit Run lyrics. Only a half baked attempt (its a bit logically inconsistent in parts) – lots of phrases left pretty much as thety were.
Some days Abbott makes me wanna up and call it quits
I feel like I’m surrounded by a congo line of twits
Every time I go to get up to vote he just makes it the pits
His words are like one great big ball of shit!
If I could, just put it all into all I spit
Instead of always trying swallow it
Instead of starin’ at this wall and shit
While I sit here outcast, I’m so sick of all this shit
Can’t , Call it Shit!
All I know is I’m about to hit the wall
If I ever have to see another one of the Liberal’s made up fits
This is it, the last straw
That’s all, That’s it
I ain’t gunna be another fuckin’ political football
I’m like a skillet bubblin’, until it filters up
I’m about to kill myself, I can feel it buildin’ up
First though I’ll blow this building up, I’ve been sealed in enough
My cup runneth over with Abbott-hate – I’m filled up
The Pyner explodes and busts, his verbal stink spills my guts!
You think all I do is have tarts feel my nuts
Well.. Imma show you what, Abbott, You gon’ feel my rage
If you don’t feel it, then it must be too real to touch
Build your lies, I’m about to tear that shit up
Budgie Smuggler, Yea Imma make your balls hang out, Yea hang out
Imma tell you who I be, Imma make you hate me, Cause you hate me
You wait , it ain’t too late for you to finally see
What you close-minded fucks were too blind to see
Whoever finds me the truth is gonna get a finder’s fee
Out this world, ain’t no one out their mind like he
Peace of mind? Here’s a piece of mine
“That man, is that not only is he unfit to be a prime minister; in my view, he is unfit to be an MP”
I’m afraid to die, but why am I afraid? Why am I a slave
To his constant Tirade ? Cyanide I spit to the grave
Real enough to rile you up, Want me to flip it? I can rip it
any style you want. Imma switch hitting voting bitch
Thommo ain’t no quitter
Imma vote here till I get enough of me heard to finally hit a fucking boiling point
Put some oil in your joints, Run Run Away, Bitch come get destroyed
Liberals wet dream, I make their ttemple veins throb, they love me
See me vote with them and they snake away like a chain-link fence
By the looks of em you would swear that Jaws was coming
By the screams of them you would swear I’m sawing someone
By the way they runnin’, you could swear that the law was coming
It’s now or never, And tonight it’s all or nothing
Abbott keeps leading you on, He said I must go out the back
His constant pinky promises, I don’t think he’s honest
I’ll be back home soon baby, I just gotta beat this cock
Fuck Abbott ! Imma gunna make him Eat his words
Don’t believe me Watch! Imma win this race
And Imma come back and rub my shit in your face, Bitch!
I found my niche, You gonna hear my vote
Till you’re SICK of it you ain’t gonna have a choice
If I gotta scream ’til I have half a lung
If I have half a chance, I’ll grab it,
Run Abbott Run!
Run Abbott Run!
Play the Eminen video while reading
Where’s Elmer Fudd when you need him, with his Twusty shotgun, to shoot the Wascally Wabbit before it gets into the carrots?
Good one, Bob!
Stick to prose, Bob.
That you are good at.
Cite examples.
What are the bad lines in the song?
Bob Ellis,
When Will You Learn?
It’s not about the Lines.
You have written many books. Most are very good. “What we did last summer” is still my favorite.
My Name is Glinda.
Along the bike lanes I did ride…
To the Sydney Writers Fest Script
Did I Not Subscribe……
As William Shakespeare said,
A speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad…
A Good Heart
Is the sun and the moon;
Or, rather, the sun, and not the moon;
For it shines bright and never changes,
But keeps his course truly.
Fee Fi Fo
Fickle Dee Dum.
“Madame Deputy Speaker,
My question is to the gallery and to the Speaker,
Is there any truth to the rumour that Parliament House will henceforth formalise the exact distance between the Manager for Opposition Business’s seat, and door of the chamber.
To be known from now on as as Pyne gap.
Further Madame Deputy Speaker, in order to keep voting procedures and protocols moving forward, and all possible voting Members available inside the House, could she instruct the Clerk of the House to arrange for the immediate installation of an Abbott Proof Fence.
Failing that, the Opposition Leader would ask that the House adopt the “barlees” principle when the Member for Dobell, rises to his feet.”
- by Hypocritophobe, from the excellent noplaceforsheep.
Pyne Gap had me in stitches!
BOR-ING.
What else’ve your puppets got?
Script rewrite, please!
(Where’s Mel Gibson when you need him!)
Artificial intelligence researcher Marvin Minsky sees the argument as circular. The proposition of the possibility of something physically identical to a human but without subjective experience assumes that the physical characteristics of humans are not what produces those experiences, which is exactly what the argument was claiming to prove. Stephen Yablo’s response is to provide an error theory to account for the intuition that zombies are possible. Notions of what counts as physical and as physically possible change over time so conceptual analysis is not reliable here. Yablo says he is “braced for the information that is going to make zombies inconceivable, even though I have no real idea what form the information is going to take.”
- Wikipedia
I liked the song, but I’m unsettled about Bob Ellis disguarding his friendship with and respect for Tony Abbott so easily… The former praise he had for the man was so lavish and astonishing from someone as pink as Ellis, but it was also charming to see the manly respect for an opponent and the overlap between both men’s social views…
I don’t believe that Ellis’ heart is in this brutal attack on a good man. He should be ashamed for being so unfaithful to his conscience.
Poisonous toad, indeed?
He proves not to be a good man, alas, but a cruel and bullying persecutor of the innocent.
And I wish it were not so.
The conservatives aren’t enjoying this, are they?
Well they’d better get used to it.
LOL ’til the tears run down my cheeks.
We are used to Useful Idiots.
This is so very bad, Bob – like a down and out Rolf Harris after his fifth Babycham before breakfast. Ask Rhys if he is interested in wordsmithing this into a children’s book.
I improved it overnight.
Look again.
Or do better.
Do one about me.
Rolf doesn’t drink. Never has.
Get something right, can’t you?
Nope, still awful.
I said like a down and out Rolf Harris. Like You must learn to read properly, Bob, you must. Billions have.
I will set myself to the task of a far superior ‘Ballad to Bob’ and post when you least expect it.
It’s bad Bob. Worse than the Nostradamus Kid.
Nostradamus Kid tied with The Piano which got an Oscar, how dare you.
Banned for life.
I wouldn’t know Bob. I fell asleep.
Bob are you out to lunch? When I read this all that comes to mind are two words “early opener.”
Bob if you let me on I can post a song about you as requested.
To the tune of Queen’s famous pub anthem. Best enjoyed with a glass of Mateus…
Another [conspiracy] bites the dust – an ode to Bob’s false prophecies
Bob walks warily down the street,
with his brim pulled way down low
Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet,
Mateus ready to go
Are you ready, Are you ready for this
Are you hanging on the edge of your seat
Out on the blog another conspiracy rips
To the sound of the beat
BUT, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM
Another conspiracy bites the dust
Another conspiracy bites the dust
And another one gone, and another one gone
Another one bites the dust
Hey, they gonna get you too
Another conspiracy bites the dust
How do you think I’m going to get along,
without you, when you’re gone
The truth took me for everything that I had,
and kicked me out on my own
Are you happy, are you satisfied
My credibility is it on its feet
But, out on the blog another conspiracy rips
To the sound of the beat
Another conspiracy bites the dust
Another conspiracy bites the dust
And another one gone, and another one gone
Another one bites the dust
Hey, they gonna get you too
Another conspiracy bites the dust
Another conspiracy bites the dust
Another conspiracy bites the dust
Another conspiracy bites the dust
Another conspiracy bites the dust
There are plenty of ways you can hurt a man
And bring him to the ground
You can beat him
You can cheat him
You can treat him bad and leave him
When he’s down
But Truth, I’m ready, yes I’m ready for you
I’m standing on my own two feet
But, out on the blog another conspiracy rips
To the sound of the beat
AND,
Another conspiracy bites the dust
Another conspiracy bites the dust
And another one gone, and another one gone
Another one bites the dust
Hey, they gonna get you too
Another conspiracy bites the dust
White Knight you are truly the equal of Farrokh Bulsara – are you a bearer of a moustache as well. This lyrics far surpass thos provided by Bob (apologies Herr Ellis).
You were so easy to wax lyrical about that I made two. Enjoy Robert!
Title: Drink Robert Drink
So it goes,
Never made it,
Blog on the nose,
Grey matter faded,
And looking backwards, you wish it wasn’t so,
You turn to old Mateus, and think no no no no….
Drink Bobby drink, if you can, run, walk, run,
Keep stumbling, keep dodging, be deluded, have fun,
Don’t worry how much you’ve faded
at least you’re having fun,
Drink Bobby, quick, grab it, now, old son.
Drink Bobby, drink, suck it down like mad,
Keep swearing, declaring you’ve been had:
Don’t worry about Gerard, you’ve got his measure,
Pay your debts or dont, which ever gives you pleasure.
Palm beach,
Its gone,
Those were the days,
You’ve hit the wall now,
And every rumour you put out
We try to unscramble – but cant.
Drink Bobby drink, seize the day,
Keep lying, denying you are gay,
Don’t think how there will be hell to pay,
Drink, Bobby drink, swear, ban us, that’s the way.
Drink Bobby, drink, suck it down like mad,
Keep swearing, declaring you’ve been had:
Don’t worry about Gerard, you’ve got his measure,
Pay your debts or dont, which ever gives you pleasure.
David Williamson calling himself “The White Knight” – officially the lamest celebrity entry since John Birmingham’s “what does it matter if I’m a Liberal voter?”.