The Good Old Aussie Fly Poem by Bob Gibson

Australia is fantastic, I'd live here till I die
but there's one thing that's stopping me! The good old Aussie fly!
I've tried all the lotions, I've covered myself in Vick!
ave used up all me whisky thinking that would do the trick!

They're very friendly over here, they call it 'the Aussie wave'
I thought they all knew semaphore! it seemed like all the rage!
I started waving back at them, smiling as yer do!
they said I was demented, and a poofter too!

I went down to the beach one day, I took off all me gear
the flies just homed in on me, attacking front an rear
there must have been a thousand, they invaded every crack
I stood there like a windmill, till I acquired the knack!

its a natural manuver! its done without a thought
I think it's in genetics! it certainly can't be taught!
they acquire this trait from an early age, they time the move just right
they slap the fly just as it lands or get it in mid flight!

they leave a trail of bodies, as they pass you on the street
the fly's they have a fielday, fresh visitors they eat
where do they go in winter? not one is to be seen!
and no more friendly Aussie's to tell where they have been