Country comforts




The same as city comforts, once dinner’s over and the lights are out, only better. All that clean air is very invigorating




He’s a gentleman, my brother, Bert,
Though of course he’s a bit of a flirt:
He’s had girls on the floor,
Up against the church door,
In the paddocks, but not in the dirt.


A young girl from beyond the black stump
Won’t say no to a casual hump.
Though she’s plain and she’s vulgar,
Out there in the mulga,
At offers like that one should jump!


When you’re droving, you need a good cook,
One at whom it’s no hardship to look.
The hotter, the damper,
The happier camper,
Exploring each cranny and nook.


Country Girl

She’s a true country girl, born and bred,
Good with horses, though not too well-read.
She can work like a man,
Has an arms-and-legs tan,
With a well-formed hind-quarters and and head.

On the night of the day she was wed,
When her new husband took her to bed,
She performed there so well,
It was easy to tell
She’d long given her all, in the shed.


Country girls are a wonderful breed:
Take the way they can sit on a steed,
Let it gallop and buck,
And have strength still to fuck,
Though their fannies be blistered and bleed!


She was dainty, naive and demure,
So probably therefore quite pure.
The poor village dunce
Claimed he’d diddled her once,
But in retrospect wasn’t so sure!


In the bush, in the heat and the dust,
Working long days, to just earn a crust,
You could say it’s your right
To do strange things at night,
That fill soft city folk with disgust.


Led Astray

Farmer Brown’s daughter, young Ellie-Mae
Was seduced, or more like, led astray,
But it has to be said
She was willingly led
And was ripe for a roll in the hay.

On a hot, steamy, still summer’s day
It began just as innocent play;
Only boisterous fun
In a field, in the sun,
Until hormones got into the way.

In unconscious erotic display,
As she ran her big bosom would sway
In a way unrestrained,
Being poorly contained
In a dress thin and starting to fray.

To the young fellow’s utmost dismay,
(as it would, if a bloke wasn’t gay),
His undisciplined cock
Became hard as a rock.
It stuck out, and would not go away!

They both knew there would be hell to pay,
But they both thought “Be that as it may.”
With a mischievous glance
She unbuttoned his pants.
Their impatience would brook no delay!

With her clothing still in disarray
And a smug smile , as much to betray,
As she ran in the gate
She called ‘Sorry I’m late,
Me and Charlie just had our first lay!’


Farmer Rogers has sex with his fowls,
Amidst curses, and grunting and growls,
Madly plunging his cock
Into one of his flock,
Till he comes with demonical howls.


There’s a girl in the village called Gert,
Who goes knickerless under her skirt:
She’ll be yours for the night
If you play your cards right,
But you have to pull out when you squirt.


Country women

Country women work hard and don’t nag.
They enjoy a cold beer and a fag,
Don’t sit round on their bums,
Cook and clean like their mums,
And they like a nice roll in the swag.

When a country girl’s tits start to sag,
She’s still good for a grope and a shag.
She still fancies her figure.
Her arse may be bigger,
That’s only more tail to wag!

Though her bloke’s a bit rough and a dag,
Put him down and you wave a red rag.
You’ll be in for a blue:
He’s her number-one screw.
And for God’s sake, don’t call her a slag!


In the hay and the mud and ordure,
The stable-girl, lewd and impure,
Was diddled by many,
But not Lord Kilkenny,
Because all the horsemen knew her.


Said a down-to-earth girl from Penong,
“I know casual fucking is wrong,
But a sociable screw
With a bloke passing through
Is no sin, and it doesn’t take long!”


An old weather-worn Narrabri ringer,
Renowned as a big bull-shit slinger,
To Nellie’s surprise
Slipped between her fat thighs,
What he’d promised: a fucking hum-dinger!


When a young country girl has a root
With her bloke in the back of his ute,
With his gun and his tools,
While his pet kelpie drools,
She’ll most likely still say it was beaut!


In the hay, in a fairly clean stall,
Miss O’Keefe gave the young groom her all
It was such a tight fit
That her poor fanny split,
But she pluckily still took it all!


Rural Idyll

When you’re living outback, on a station
The boredom and great isolation
Cause men to commit
And nice girls to submit
To lewd acts, in bemused resignation.

You grow tired of dull masturbation,
And even of plain copulation.
Then one day you say
“Let’s try some other way,
For fuck’s sake, for some damned variation!

It’s a thing that defies explanation:
Though subject to long rumination,
This curious lot,
(Are they in-bred or what?)
Aren’t content with good old fornication!

They might need more sex education.
God knows, they could try sublimation:
There’s much more to do
Than play sex games and screw.
They must have an unhealthy fixation!

But enough of such insinuation,
Besmirching their good reputation
Get down to the facts
Of these unseemly acts
And consider the prime motivation.

Out there, sex is the sole recreation:
It’s not just for blind procreation
And needless to say
That there’s more than one way
To achieve love’s sublime consummation.

City folk lack an imagination
Condemning experimentation.
Everyone likes a change
And some acts may seem strange,
But it’s been going on since creation!

So instead of such stern indignation,
Why not some discreet admiration
For clever folk who,
Seek to try something new
In a spirit of bold innovation.

I would call them, without reservation,
The bloody back-bone of the nation.
They like their sex rough?
Country people are tough:
When it hurts, it improves the sensation!

If their sexual gratification
Requires some mild flagellation,
With boots, whips and spurs,
It’s for his fun and hers,
Just consensual sex exploitation.

If the girl, at the bloke’s instigation,
Gets tied up for his titillation,
If she doesn’t mind,
And it helps them unwind
It’s of course a win-win situation!

Say the bloke needs the girl’s subjugation,
To manage an ejaculation
She’s awfully brave
To become his sex-slave
For the bitter-sweet game’s short duration.

And of course, at their next assignation
Like as not there will be a rotation:
The bloke on his knees,
While she does a strip-tease
And he does things for her stimulation.

It’s a matter of self-preservation
Sometimes to screw with a relation;
Just letting off steam,
And it beats a wet dream
If you suffer from sex deprivation.

Give some thought to all this information
When planning your next long vacation:
Perhaps a farm-stay
Where a roll in the hay
Puts an end to some girl’s desperation.

City girls, please, no shy hesitation:
Your bodies await adoration
By young jackaroos.
What’s a girl got to lose?
For a life of rich fantasisation!


Though you may not have known it, Tarzan
Had a year-round all-over tan,
And he swung trough the trees,
With a dong to his knees,
Screaming Ah! Oh! Ah! There was a man!


When the swaggies called in for some tucker
The squatter’s wife’s lips used to pucker.
They’d trudge through the heat
For a month for this sweet
Unsolicited generous succour.

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