Santos at Woodford

There’s a crook called Murdoch preoccupied with hacking

There’s a group called Santos, preoccupied with fracking

Now fracking tears the country up, throws it all away

Leaving absolutely nothing for any other day

That’s only one of Santos’ jobbies there are many

And their other enterprises? Do we like ANY?

They slash and rip and smash and cut

And if ever they leave they don’t clean up

Groundwater gone, the countryside gone

Communities gone, profits gone

Overseas and then ----- MOVE ON.

Santos is wherever the coal is seaming

Santos is here, sponsoring The Dreaming.

Before we go further I want to make it clear

That I’ve opposed such things for fifty-five years

Dozens of issues, time after time,

Government criminals, corporate crime

Domestic violence, aggressive wars

And fighting for what the unions are for,

Women’s rights, Thatcher’s poll taxing

Which, without a doubt, was financial fracking

Mining the pockets of the British poor

To pay for an election and a Falklands war

Nuclear power, Greenham Common

Anything with destructive labels on ‘em

Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan

The endless chaos of man against man

To say nothing about the fate of the Earth

Global warming, pollution and the birth

Of too many humans, and feeling so small

That nothing you do seems to help at all

So this Santos thing .. it’s not quite clear

What the frack I’m doing here.

I discussed it with the agent, argued with myself

Should I leave Woodford on the pantry shelf?

Woodford’s great, it’s caught in a cleft

And doesn’t deserve to be upped and left

But it’s kind of like when you read the news

Do you stay in bed, singing the blues?

Go shopping, go mad, go out on the booze?

Boycott? Picket? Occupy? Choose?

PICKETING’S good, it’s been well tested

Sit down, stand up, get arrested.

BOYCOTT’S an effective, economic boot

It worked pretty well with South African fruit

Just agree on the where, the when, the why

Then get together and OCCUPY

Letters to the editor, songs and tears

I’ve done these things for years and years

So what the frack am I doing here?

Of course I’m just a visitor, here downunder

But I know the story of colonial plunder

It happened in the country that I come from

The native Americans got the crumbs

Left over from European haute cuisine

Like the white fellas picked the black fellas clean

Took their land, silenced their voice

And I’m going to question the blackfella’s choice

Of sponsors? …  These corporations

They’re in every corner of every nation

The lengths they’ll go to are beyond belief

To cleanse their reputation, get tax relief.

We’re all internally colonised

They’ve got their sticky fingers into all the pies

Into most of the media, most of the arts

In the public body’s most private parts.

They sponsor us all, you and me

Where do we go for our coffee and tea?

Where do we bank? What do we eat?

There’s the clothes on our backs, the shoes on our feet …

And when we read their sponsored news

Do we Boycott? Picket? Occupy? Choose?

I chose. I’m singing. I’m playing. I’m here.

I support the Dreaming, loud and clear 

Even though I know

That the devil is paying for part of the show.