The Flying Rissoles
John Martin
When SMB came into town
Cunnamulla battened down.
The wives and daughters hid from view
Some of the men – well, they did too.
Cos word was passed around the traps
No effort spared to keep it under wraps
That a bunch of really evil blokes
Had come to terrorize the folks.
An old and weedy little gnome
With rheumy eyes and brittle bone
Was waiting at the airport gate
To pick us up – and translocate
To city sights and business hub
Then on to lunch at the grand old pub.
They’d heard that we were somewhat rough
In error, we’re much better stuff.
But they thought that we would all call for steak
So they brought in supplies from out of state.
And just to sage the cries of other souls
Made up a few serves of beef rissoles.
“These blokes won’t want my meatballs fair.
Not while there’s steak I do declare.”
But when the orders then he took
The steak did barely get a look.
“We want rissoles,” came the cry.
“Fit for a king and men who fly”
“But I don’t think there is enough”
“Well, get them!”
“How?”
“We don’t give a stuff.”
So word went out across the town
To bring more beef and spices down
The chef, the boss and serving wench
All toiled and slaved at the kitchen bench.
They grumbled and they cursed and swore
They dropped some rissoles on the floor.
“Who cares,” they whined, “where these things go.”
A few hairs, some dirt, they’ll never know.
But with these extra condiments
Of flavours from the floor and vents.
The rissoles tasted mighty fine
We scoffed them down in record time.
“We’d like some more”, we felt like asking.
To assuage our hunger – everlasting
But we knew there was a finite line
What we could eat and then still climb.
So when the last rissole was gone
We stopped our mastication.
We paid our dues and smiled a lot.
And gave congratulations.
The cook was chuffed, the girl was pleased.
We told it like it was.
We passed on praise in honest force
How we loved their meatballs in black sauce.
So now they changed their outlook
On the boys from out of town
We never came to criticize
Nor came to put them down.
We thanked them all, they all did well
We played it like a team
We gave credit where credits due
We left in high esteem.
We were just a bunch of guys
unfairly thought as pissholes
Now Cunnamulla knows us all
As the Secret Flying Rissoles.
