A more appropriate version of a song from a failed politician talking about Oz sport aviation:
Traveling in a clapped-out Drifter
On a hippie trail head full of paras
I had a ramp check, it made me nervous
They conned me out and left me breathless
And he said, "Do you come from a land down under?
Where Morgans grow and small kids chunder?
Can't you hear them, can't you smell the chunder?
You batter them, but still they chunder"
Buying grass from a man in Gympie
He was six foot four and full of muscle
I said, "Do you speak my language?"
He just smiled and gave me a Jabiru engine
And he said, "Do you come from a land down under?
Where Morgans grow and small kids chunder?
Can't you hear, can't you smell the chunder?
You batter them, but still they chunder"
On cross country the thermals bump me
And the bloody federals make me nervous
When my Jabs donk quits
I feel the quoit quit, then reach for a Vegemite sandwich
And he said, "Oh, you come from a land down under?"
(Oh yeah, yeah)
Where Morgans grow and small kids chunder?
Can't you hear, can't you smell the chunder?"
(Oh)
"You batter them, but still they chunder"