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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
If you're lucky enough not to have lived in Victoria during the reign of violently insane state premior Jeff Kennett, there is no real way for me to make you believe what it was like.

Submitted: February 02, 2011

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Submitted: February 02, 2011



His name is Jeff Kennett
But we call him the taxman,
When it comes to our pleasures
We call him the axeman;
He axes our lives
He cuts away all our dreams,
Leaves us all in poverty
Living without any means.

He taxes the water
That we all must drink,
Taxes each drop running
Down the gulley trap or sink;
He taxes the sewerage
So please take a care,
Soon he'll be taxing
The follicles in our hair.

He taxes the air
Going into our noses,
He taxes each nostril
As it opens and closes;
He taxes the pavement
On which we all walk,
He taxes our mouths
Every time that we talk.

He taxes our gardens
All our flowers and trees,
Pretty soon he'll be taxing
The birds and the bees;
Yes he'll tax a young couple
Making love to each other,
And in May he'll be taxing
Roses sent to your mother.

© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts,
Melbourne, Australia

© Copyright 2019 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.

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