>>514675269
There once was a man called Dezi,
Whose brainpan was bent and unsteady,
From Filby to Freeman he flipped his own name,
And played sovereign games in a bushranger’s frame.

Two coppers rolled in thinking, “we’ll nab him with ease,”
But he dropped them both faster than dropping his jeans,
A scattergun’s roar sent them straight down to hell,
While Dezi just smirked, “ain’t I doing swell?”

He vanished from sight like a ghost in the scrub,
While glowies got drunk at the Punka town pub,
They searched with their dogs and their drones in the sky,
Yet Dezi was gone with a wink in his eye.

The news made him myth, a schizo folk song,
Half Ned Kelly, half porn-star dong,
They say in the bush he still strokes his piece,
Not the shotgun, but cock eight inches at least.

The chopper flew over, the spotlight did gleam,
But Dezi was pants-down, mid-wank in a stream,
“Free man on the land, and free man on my meat,
I’ll nut in the gumtrees, the cops face defeat.”

So tell me, O riddle, O riddle of man,
Is he bushranger, schizo, or just horny stan?
The answer’s uncertain, but one thing is plain

The glowies got cucked and Dezi remains.