Blundy

I can't take credit for this, I found it on Facebook - but it sure sums it up!

OBH, Institution.

There's a pub down at Cott' that you should know,
A place every Sunday, bushies all go.
You'll find a crowd always in good cheer,
All catching up over an ice cold beer.

The crowd rolls in from all over the state,
Knowing for sure they'll find an old mate.
'Though some faces may change from week to week,
There is always a mate with whom to speak.

Ringers come down from the mustering year,
It's straight to the Rum, don't bother with beer!
Twelve hours on the road to get their throat damp,
Still covered in the dust of the stockcamp.

And look out the front, the carpark is full,
Coming from farms of beef, grain and wool,
The hats are big and the drivers wear boots,
Covered in stickers, dusty V8 utes.

Others run for their utes, straight from their desks,
They roll in each week, the crew from Muresk.
They go at it hard, a weekly release,
Come the next dawn, they're heading back east.

And then there's the crowd who live down in Perth,
Stuck in the city, but country by birth.
Going to Uni' or a city job,
Waiting all week to catch up with the mob.

On Australia Day you have to attend,
It's nearly as big as a B&S weekend!
The only times you'll wait at the door,
It's shoulder to shoulder, with a wet floor.

So what about me and what's my link?
It's all of the above and more if I think.
Grab a quiet beer or out back and vocal,
That's why we all consider it as our local!

Generations of bushies can't be wrong,
Down through the years it's still going strong.
One thing’s for sure when living out West,
When Sunday rolls 'round, the OB's the best!

Gascoyne's Son
Nov '99.