A weatherboard house.
For you and your spouse
And a garage for your tools.
They are your jewels.
With roses and a picket fence.
Smell the BBQ on the deck.
Mulberries fall and wreck
the freshly mowed lawn.
 
Play footy with your mates.
They control their fates.
Handpassing, tackling.
Your knees all crackling
shepherding and kicking.
The team is clicking.
BOG in the grand final.
Sing the team song.
 
Heads turn and follow your car.
Across the burning tar.
Latest model in your town.
Shiny bright splashing color.
You put the roof down
Turn the music up.
Watch them staring at you.
Do a blockie. Rock and roll them.
 
She said here’s your pres.
And read the card which says.
Have a happy retirement.
You were worth every cent.
A slice of cake on a plate.
Your boss confirmed your fate.
One final look at your old desk.
Now looks grotesque.
 
Open the creaky front gate.
Greeted by your barking mate.
He stands on his back feet.
Gives you a warm and wet greet.
 
Your perfect partner fills the gap.
She sits on your lap.
You have been trying to find.
Someone nice and kind.
 
Your friend Geoff the Eastern Rosella.
Glides and flies. What a lovely fella.
Lands on a branch. Starts to tweet.
And sings for you. What a treat.