Attend the tale of wikileaks,
A war on government by geeks,
Which made today Assange, its founder,
Seem to some a frightful bounder.
He’s told what Rudd once said of China,
And touched, some swear, a Swede’s vagina,
Attained more scoops than all the journos
Weeping now in hell’s infernos.
He’s dug the dirt, he’s blown the gaff
On what ambassadors say to staff.
For such he should be waterboarded,
Such revelations vile and sordid,
For pushing noses up the arse
Of the Great World’s ruling class,
He’ll do, I fear, long years in gaol,
This honest, forthright Aussie male,
And yet, like many Aussie blokes,
Like David Marr and Laurie Oakes,
He’s merely let the sun shine in
And shouted, ‘Let the games begin!’
And this Australian of the Year
I’ll hail in print, I’ll shout in beer,
I’ll send him files, I’ll stand him bail.
Assange for sainthood, folks. Wassail