Deadset 

​Exploited or exploiter
what does it matter in this
a very blokey place
 
what you do here don’t count
 
A country town but not your country
jammed red with boredom and climate
women are soldiers’ wives
 
what you do here don’t count
 
Ain’t born here you ain’t gonna die here
they got no water here
no matter, long shift big bikkies
 
what you do here don’t count
 
Sixteen hours on you get
four hours’ sleep only gives you three
or four to up and take a life
 
what you do here don’t count
 
There’s telly sometimes barbeque
but really only thing to do is stage yourself
this stage of self; bucolic stages for the killing
 
what you do here don’t count
 
It’s kind of like on holiday
not any kind of real life
real life’s in Sydney, real life’s back in Perth
 
what you do here don’t count
​
Fly-in fly-out’s you’ll hear ‘em say
‘fit-in or fuck-off’ so you fit in… you fit in…
fists in gloves off
 
what you do here don’t count
 
‘Cept when you go home now you go off
can’t shake the dirt out he stood up to you and
you dunno how to deal with that no more
 
what you do here don’t count
 
Where the bloody hell are you these
days she said you’ve been away
and now she’s cactus all over red rover
​
what you do here don’t count

Have another shot mate
have another fight mate
have another taste of dust and sweat mate
there’s nothing else here…

Dead set.