The election is coming,
It’s on it’s way,
Albo will visit,
The GG any day,
And ask her to prorogue,
What’s often speech shrill,
So the House on the hill,
Will be quiet and still.

Out on the hustings,
Pollies parade,
Promises galore
‘Twill take a spade,
To shovel what’s offered
But you know quite a bit,
Of what is on offer won’t fly,
For they are talking s..t.

A few weeks frentic,
Pollies go near and far,
Some in the air,
The juniors by car,
Beeseeching the voters.
Like you and me,
That if elected they’ll better,
A land no longer carefree.

Then ‘twill be over,
It will again quieten down,
‘Cept for the buzzing,
Of speech that will drown,
Those few weeks of quiet,
And calmness you see,
The House on the Hill,
Will buzz incessantly,
The winners will smile,
And the losers shed tears,
As they all get set,
For another three years.