Emu War

by Plains Wanderer

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Written, recorded and produced in less than a week. That's either an accomplishment or an excuse... we're not sure. Emu War is about being Australian, and loving it. And loving one another.

Recorded at Baynton's Abode and Mort's Box.


released January 26, 2014

Billy Baynton - Bass, Vocals, Guitar, Harsh critique of Tungsten
Tungsten Mort - Bass, Vocals, Guitar, Sax, Clarinet, Theremin, Drums, Audio Ingenuity



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Plains Wanderer Sydney, Australia

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Track Name: Ode To Mullet
T: Hey mum, I'm home,
I got a haircut like you told me to.

B: Hey Darl, I thought you were going to Damo's?
Come up stairs and show me your new doo.

T: I did go to Damo's, his sister cut it for me,
She could open up her own shop.

B: Damo's sister's twelve, she must be a savant,
now come up stairs and show me your new mop.

T: M'kay, I hope you like it
cos I'm diggin the shit out of it.

B: OI! Language!
Only mothers are allowed to say shit.

T: I'm right behind you now
you can stop bleaching the bath.

Why'd you go and do something so daft?!

T: It's not that daft really… Its just a haircut
Its just my very first mullet!

And I'm feeling good.
Ain't that what it's all about madre?

B: Mate, its not the 80s…
Thats not fashion, its suicide.

T: It can't be that bad,
what if I get it dyed?

B: Someones gonna die in a minute,
You're making my heart palpitate.

T: Y'know I'm no good with big words
I'm the first kid to get a negative reading age in this state.

B: Yeah, and zygotes are probably
better decision makers than you.

T: Hey now, goats don't make decisions
otherwise they wouldn't end up glue.

B: Thats horses mate, but anyway
what provoked you into such sin?

T: I thought the mullet was the epitome of hairstyle practically.

I imagined the top of my head would be so much cooler
but I could still feel the back blowing in the wind.

B: Darl, thats not reason enough
to get a mullet!
Now tell me why you got that abomination of a thing…

T: Mum, I'm in love with a man.
A man with a mullet.
And you always told me there's nothing wrong
with loving someone.

He brings me comfort
when I dream
He's Al Montfort
He's more than he seems.

B: He brings you comfort?

T: Yeah, when I dream.

B: Well who the fuck is Al Montfort?

T: He's more than he seems.
He makes me cream.
Track Name: Tommo Plays Tennis
Tommo's in the back with the ambo's and his dad
watching in horror as some fibrillation causes a stir.
His hand is squeezed to some odd shade of magenta, maybe fuchsia.
Time is passing slow, but in retrospect will be a blur…

All except some words heard murmured through a cancerous throat,
and tongue, and lungs, his pop was riddled with tumours.
And these last words stick will with Tommo like well cooked spag to a wall.
They give his life new purpose, the words his dad whispered as if a rumour:

'Don't ever buy kitchenware again.'

And his dad's last exhale rolls over him like a fog
or a blanket cross-weaved with threads of guilt and shame
as Tommo had purchased some new bowls earlier that day
for the new house he paid off with an insurance claim.

He rushes home, sprinting through traffic and back streets.
He gets their and smashes his porcelain receptacles.
His new home is now left with zero kitchenware
as he walks over to some boxes and adjusts his spectacles.

In thick black sharpie, he reads off their names:
Action figures, awards, linen, DVDs
but when he spies 'photo albums', he unpacks the memories within
laughing at his youth and getting tears on the sleeves.

Again and again are photos of Tommo,
playing some sport with his dad egging him on.
Yumm.. eggs, Tommo realises he's hungry
but he has no way of fixing dinner unless he orders on the phone.

And then something clicks as Tommo verbalises his epiphany
'Either Dad was a little high on pain meds,
or he wanted me to become a professional sportsmen!'

Now, that may sound absurd to your average layman,
but Tommo was never one to lay down.
He reckoned sports competitions are all about winning kitchenware
Cups, plates, kitsch cutlery, now he was glory bound.

He starts with soccer, but it just ain't kicking,
He tries league and wins a wooden spoon,
He tries netball, but gender rolls get the better of him,
He tries cricket, starts hitting balls to the moon.

But why stick with that sport when it seems
the ashes is its most important prize?
And what sort of kitchenware
is an urn of such diminutive size.

With his cool coordination and sweet swing
he reckons he's left with two things.
Tennis or golf...
Oh, how white and bourgeois an ultimatum can make you feel.

Love, love
15, love
30, love
40, love
Game, Set, Match
And some Brand New Kitchenware

Tommo's winning tournaments; left, right and centre
He goes professional within 3 weeks.
11 months pass and his world rank is number 1,
and his tennis groupies hang off every word he speaks.

He's closing every Open with a well-off win,
not having one measly point against him drawn up.
Until the only thing that he hasn't secured
is the Norman Brookes Challenge Cup.

And the world is in the palm of his hand,
and the palm of his hand is soaked in sweat,
he's nervous that he'll choke in the finals at home,
so he distracts himself with all the tennis groupies that he can get.

Tommo was receiving multitudes of free
Love, love
15, love
30, love
40, love
Gingers, blondies, brunettes
but don't forget
the brand new kitchenware of course.

Tommo's world turns upside down and inside out
when he learns the news of a groupie bearing his child
He is frightened at first, but he falls in love
with the way his month old daughter smiles.

He throws his knee out on a clay court
his physio says he'll be out for a year,
his health, both physical and mental decline,
He spends half his days with his eyes clouded in tears.

Until he ends up in the back of an emergency vehicle
with his daughter staring him in the face.
Oh what a peculiar and familiar situation
but Tommo handles it with grace:

He turns away from the light saying, 'Sorry Jesus, I gotta win one more cup.'

So Tommo trains back up
and he enters the highly prestigious Australian open.
And he makes it to the final,
This time without all the groupie gropin'.

And tonights the night he can wrap up his career,
he's eating a celebratory dinner with his fam'.
And the table is set with his accolades
as he lifts his Alfredo DuFrampe fork in his hand.

And wrapped around the fork is spaghetti and meat
which he shoves in his mouth at a tremendous speed
and he begins choking, and then his body goes limp,
and he dies face down
in his brand new kitchenware.
Track Name: Pots and Pints (A Request to the Australian Government for the Standardisation of Beverage Sizes)
Melbourne I love ya but I don't think I can stay too long
When I went into a St Kilda bar on a rainy summer's day I didn't know what I was in for
And all I ever wanted was a Carlton, a coaster and a table by the window
When I handed over my $6 I didn't get my money's worth

When I travel interstate I always know the train tracks will be kinda straight
But Sir Henry why didn't you make sure my beer will be alright

It wasn't till later in Footscray that I realised what was going on
I walked up to the bar at the Dog and all I said was 'A Carlton, thanks'
The bar tender he looked at me and said 'A pot or a pint mate what'll it be?'
a pint would do once in a while but it's a schooner for me

When I travel interstate I always know the train tracks will be kinda straight
But Sir Henry why didn't you make sure my beer will be alright

Now that I'm back home in NSW I guess it shouldn't make a difference
But it only made me see the true depth of the state divide
If i get handed the wrong change up here I won't pay it any of my mind
It's just nice to know my beer will be the right size
Track Name: Cathode Ray Blues
The Helmholtz coil, in conjunction with an electromagnet,
steers some electron beams towards a fluorescent screen:
phosphor coated, so the electrons transfer to visible light,
cos how can we marvel at a CRT TV if its purpose can't be seen?
Receiving orders concerning voltage control
determining how much red, green, or blue light will suffice
to create any colour in our spectrum.
Every second theres 15750 lines that it writes.

Or something, thats all I remember son.
You shoulda took PE cos Physics is dumb.
Anyway, bugger off, the footy's nearly on.
Grab me two Tooheys, and watch them become none
like the beers are an electron, and my guts a positron
… you've got me thinking all weird now, now go to your room.

Oh, its the pre-match talk
such interesting statistics
highly pertinent to my enjoyment of this
man on man, flesh on flesh, head to head clash, brains rattling inside skulls
branch of entertainment
in which every time a point is scored or a scrum is packed
the broadcasters cut to commercial to get their pay.
So I'm really hoping this time around no one scores any tries and no one fucking knocks on…
cos I'm sick of these ads, man
beer advert after beer advert
maybe it was funny the first time around
but by the 50th time its really getting on my nerves...
You understand me right?
Its like, you change the channe cos you wanna get away from it
but there it is again, staring you in the face… what the hell is going on here?
I've already got my choice of beer,
what else could you possibly want from me man?
You keep showing me the same shit over and over again
I feel like my life is on repeat
overtime I sit in my seat
infront of my tv set
and I stoop into regret
I feel like throwing the tv against the wall..
It wouldn't be the first time

I have episodes thats all
I'll just have another drink
Calm my nerves
I fucking hate tv.
I don't mind if it hates me.
I can't help myself
I'm gonna lift you up from your pretty little cabinet
and smash you to little pieces.

I probably shouldn't have done that
there goes a few weeks pay down the shitter…
well always keep on the bright side of thin I guess.
Come downstairs
now you can see
the inside of a CRT TV
and figure it out for yourself cos
I'm sick of explaining shit to you.
Track Name: Briggsy's Mate
-badly executed dialogue-
Track Name: Disown
Haven't you heard?
Australia's full.
But why stop the boats
when theres people we pull
closer to our culture
when they never asked us to?
We've been calling impostors Aussies,
some of you lot wouldn't have a clue...


Russel Crowe, well known felon
Once charged with fourth degree possession of a weapon:
A telephone.
And he bought our precious bunnies,
with his dirty money.
Give them back and then go home.


The Finn Brothers,
Our houses are too crowded,
I think its time for your stay to end.
It's time for us to split


Phar Lap, your bones are so lonely
in some Wellington Museum.
We still have the poor fella's heart.
Send the rest of him home so that people that care can seem.


And even you Mr Hollows?
You kept us in the blind…


Really Dragon?
We confided in you...
When you were asking us how old we were,
We shoulda been asking you where the fuck you were from!


Sam Neil
you're a jurassic embarrassment.
Stop pressuring vegans into eating red meat.
Why don't you have nibble and slurp on my red meat?


Keith Urban
Why are you playing the music of Rural Australia
and tainting it with pop sensibilities?
Go do that somewhere else
and leave us with your kid, man.

Track Name: Frenulum Friends
Come on now baby, sit on my face.
I wanna be like the drip tray on a George Foreman grill.

Calm down honey let me grip your grundle,
and I'll twirl your cock round like a hills-hoist in Swan Hill.

We're in this til' the end
I wanna be your frenulum friend.
And if we finish, we'll go again;
lets be best frenulum friends, forever.

Listen up pumpkin, I've loved ya since I felched ya
I'm gonna trace your areola with my 3 inch sharp shooter.

Bring it on darl, I'll keep my eyes on the freeway,
when we stop, revive, survive, we'll eat out in Red Rooster.

Let's eat out at Red Rooster.

We're in this til' the end
I wanna be your frenulum friend.
And if we finish, we'll go again;
lets be best frenulum friends, forever.

BFFF, when we got no going left
we can just cuddle, in the warmth of our clefts.
Track Name: Soda
Soda popped a boner.
Sometimes soft drinks are hard.