Mackeral Time
MACKEREL TIME
Oh joy, oh glee, oh happy days – it’s mackerel time again
And we’re the ones to catch ‘em, for we’re the Mackerel Men
We love to get up early, before the sun is rising
And swallow several sea-sick pills – our fortitudes’s surprising.
You’ll recognise us by our cars – no, not the one that gleams
‘Fraid we don’t drive Volvos, we’re not men of means
Try that old Toyota (yes, the one with lots of dust –
Doesn’t it look macho? – and it surely hides the rust!)
Our boats are quite a ragged fleet, you’ll pick that right away
No-one has a “fly-bridge”, and the white has turned to grey
(No, not the Bertram 25 with the buxom blonde sunbaking –
It’s the one that’s moored beside it with the paintwork scarred and flaking)
We’re banned down at Mooloolaba in the lovely neat Marina
Mackerel boats are smelly – their boats are so much cleaner
Its hard to keep them spic and span, to polish and to tweek
For they get kinda messy bashing Mackerel on the beak.
Yes, the Mackerel boats are rugged and the Mackerel Man are tough
(or maybe we just think we are, but we dress mighty rough)
If our clothes are looking new, we fix that right away –
Several rips, a few blood-stains, and a heap of salty spray.
We swarm across the Noosa Bar, just on break of day
And Noosa Coastguard logs us on as we raid Laguna Bay
Somewhat like the Poms when they poured on Argentina
‘Cept Mackerel Man are hunters and they’re harder and they’re meaner.
Then ‘round and ‘round in circles the boats are trolling baits
When Mackerel aren’t biting, the fisherman just waits
Phantom grabs his thermos to have a ‘cuppa tea’
While Chiko’s up the pointy end gazing out to sea.
And Davo’s gone and left us – he’s into politics
(Too busy to come fishing and teach us all the tricks
Of catching wily fishes – young Davo was a gem
Step aside Paul Keating – Davo for P.M.
Never mind the politics, the reels are screaming out
Chiko’s hooked a monster and I really have no doubt
That Ken Browne’s TV cameras are already on their way
To photograph the heros of old Laguna Bay.
So back to port we swagger (can one swagger in a boat?)
Wives and sweethearts yearn to grab their heros by the throat
They’d rather dine in Hastings Street with well-scrubbed Mackerel Men
But its BBQ’s and stubbies, and fish for tea again.
Phantom