Burning Books - James Reyne

There ain’t no tigers

Paddin' through the jungle-land

No more congo roam okapi

Racin' 'cross the bongo sand

No more monkeys

Swinging through the monkey-puzzle tree

No more West Indian

Manatee

In the land of milk and honey

I’m living quiet as a mouse

They forgot to hang outside my house

They’re keeping camera shutters shuttered

Now they’ve got me good and guttered

No-one claps as my stuffed shirt

It flutters by

No more rhino

Scarin' up that big-game guy

No more bald eagle

Screamin' 'cross the boundless sky

No more funny

Just dumb monkeyshines for layabouts

Too many mixie bunnies

And all the yawning is a silent shout

In the land of milk and honey

From lemons we make lemonade

From the rain we make a parade

No shutter-buggers madly snapping

Or going to catch me napping

Or striding, lean and ripped and rippling from the surf

Every wedding reception

Looks just like a wake

The drunken rug in the RSL

Still sticks to your feet, for goodness sake

Committees, committees

Mr. Mayor at the mall

Seen one sunset, surf film, fireworks, market

You’ve seen 'em all

But in the land of milk and honey

Of vanities and lies

Our beautiful infected skies

The little piggies gonna snitch on one another

And you know without a twitch they’d sell their mother

The very thing that makes you rich

Will make poor