G’day there, name is Frank
And I’m off to the bank
And I’ll also be checking the mails
Always in a mad dash
Need to see if Mum’s cash
Has arrived here in North New South Wales
I’m a middle class heir
Though I don’t really care
To see myself in terms like that
But it has to be said
I keep out of the red
By renting out my my mummy’s  flat

I’m obsessed with the Yids
So I can’t feed my kids
While there’s conflict in West Bank and Gaza
I have nothing to show
Just a deep sense, you know
That I should be where all the big stars are
I’ve a film in the can
But I’m blaming the man
That it isn’t in all of the theatres
Though it might just be crap
Things should fall in my lap
I don’t want to do hard yards, or metres.
If you have a spare ear
You can buy me a beer
And listen to me night and day
But you will quickly figure
That I’m nothing bigger
Than a cranky old bourgeois cliché