Class Bore

Or, How to be opinionated in five easy columns!

Smarmy gits and Toorak tossers,
Former advertising bosses,
Hearts rise and fall with wins and losses
At footy or the polls;
Their opinion columns are sardonic,
Their capitalism is ironic,
Except when they're on hols.

They don't know bogans, but they like them;
Liberal-voting colleagues strike them
As nice but quite insane.

They know all about your money - how to spend it!
How to keep it! tax it! where to send it!
The economy and how to mend it!
And who and what gets paid off -
While their subscribers all expire,
And advertising rates grow dire -
And some get laid off.

They don't know bogans, but they like them;
They have liberal friends, but they'd like to strike them;
Or make them listen to Jon Faine.

To be postmodern and elite,
They only read Fairfax broadsheets,
And for their gossip, they repeat
The Telly or the Hun.
Like gourmets speak of books on Stilton,
They talk of what the tabloids talk of Hilton
Until the day is done.

They don't know bogans, but they like them;
Liberal-voting colleagues strike them
As an increasing pain.

They attend furtive nighttime courses
In abstract economic forces,
Wearing pink hats yearly to the horses -
And thinking on the future, cry:
Growing ever more conservative and wary,
They wonder who'll write their obituary
When, at last, they die.

They don't know bogans, but they like them;
Liberal-voting colleagues strike them
As nice but quite insane.