A poem from Redback Dave on the disastrous effects upon the Australian people of economic rationalism, globalism, and cheap foreign labour.

In the rarefied air of the Tattersalls Club
the captains of industry spoke
of the shortage of skills faced by businesses, which
would surely be sending them broke.

One old exec rumbled, “Now, these local yobs
have no bloody skills that we need,
they’re all ignorant pills, insufferable dills”
…the others completely agreed

The Chambers of Commerce were of the same mind,
industry was doomed to sure failure
“The problem is clear, there’s just no talent here
There’s no drive, brains or go in Australia”

Then someone opined, “I know just what we’ll do;
We’ll call in a Government favour,
We’ll rethink immigration; migrants our salvation
We’ll import what we need in skilled labour.”

So with great jubilation the papers announced
“Skills shortages soon to be eased”
And in corporate boardrooms from Sydney to Perth
The globalist crowd was well pleased

For to train up Australians in relevant trades
Would take far too long and cost heaps
Much quicker and easier to get what you need
From somewhere else where labour’s cheap

Young Khaija runs home through the ruins of Kabul,
At each checkpoint silently cursing
Bursting with great news, she’ll be leaving there soon
For Australia where she’ll practice nursing

Her family’s elated, they’ve got a new life
Away from the war’s stress and care
Afghanistan’s happy for her, but in truth
God knows they could use her skills there

While out at St Mary’s, Caitlyn lives in fear,
her son Will’s forever in strife
hangs out with the louts, left school at fifteen
hasn’t had a day’s work in his life

He used to try hard, looked for work every day
but now he’s caved in to dejection
ten knock-backs a week and he’s doing the speed,
erasing the pain of rejection

In the Batlow hotel on a bleak Tuesday night
John Smith sits alone and depressed
He’s in his mid 50s, the cannery’s closed
He’s lost his job like all the rest

They’re looking for welders at the new Visy mill
And he wants that job more than he’ll mention
but he won’t get it, no; he’s not formally trained
So he fakes a bad back for a pension

While Sydney keeps growing through mass immigration
a cancer of bricks, tiles and mortar
not much thought’s committed to shortages of
our species and topsoil and water

And a government hungry for tax cuts soon blows
the funds to retrain our lost folk
the National Interest’s a thing of the past
To them it’s an outdated joke

In the rarefied air of the Tattersalls Club
the captains of industry spoke
of the high cost of welfare, which without a doubt
would shortly be driving them broke.

Some young mogul said, “Look, my tax bill’s too high,
bank-rolling this great bludging herd,
Aussies are too lazy, supporting them’s crazy”
the others all fully concurred.

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