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My old man worked twenty four seven

Which wasn’t bad, for a Westie Bevan

His quest for dollars became a mission

But that didn’t leave much time for fishin’

When times came around for taking a trip

The bugger was full of lies and bull shit

After thirty years or so, it fell to me

To invite him fish hunting, as a retiree

The prep was grand on a scale for us

Buy a fibreglass skiff and a trailer with rust

Patch it, paint it and put an Evinrude to match

Get the rods and the reels, a bag for the catch

A tent, sleeping bags, blow ups, the lot

Stacked in the boat not much we forgot

Sun cream, Aeroguard, hats and a change

Maps and spare fuel I cleverly arranged

Two hours north and a beautiful day

We were off– to Tin Can Bay

But before we got there, I must explain

It positively pissed down with rain

Not to worry for we were in the car

And it fined up fast before we’d gone far

Only problem was the soaking of bedding

And that could dry out while we were fishing

So with tent set up and ship set to sail

We were absolutely sure not to fail

With Dad in the front and me in the back

I soon reeled in my first Mangrove Jack

Everything was going well as night began to fall

But there and then we realised mosquito’s were the call

Not your every day type, these ones were from hell

Big black bastards and our blood they could smell

I thought I had it covered though

Cause back to the camp we would go

Lots of repellent and a fully meshed tent

To enjoy a dinner that was heaven sent

With a six horse, flat strap, we couldn’t out run

Twelve thousand mossies lookin’ for fun

I went quite mental swinging my belt

By the time we got there, just one big welt

Left the boat in the water and run at full pace

Picked up the bedding, it looked like a race

Into the tent with no moments to spare

But a nightmare was waiting, when we got there

Midges had nested in all that we owned

Silence was shattered as both of us groaned

And the pest sprays didn’t work as they orta’

The mean little buggers drank it like water

To make matters worse, they come two abreast

Thought my father was having an arrest

I just needed some time to think

So back to the river and into the drink

We sat there up to our ears in relief

Bating our eyelids to stop further grief

But as time would have it we started to freeze

The plan was to run for it and head for the breeze

Out of the water and into the car

The windows were down so therefore no bar

It was full of bities so we had to get going

Down the track we went without even slowing

Bouncing around like two jumping beans

At least we were rid of those flying machines

All was lost and there was no going back

Calamine lotion was all that we lacked

Rolled into Gympie at quarter to five

Suffering from a bad case of hives

Waited outside till the chemist was open

He took one look at us and said “you’re gotta be jokin”

Sitting in the cafe with only our shorts

Covered in white stuff and listening to snorts

When a young Murri guy let rip a jibe

“I know were I’m from, but what’s your tribe.”

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