I thought it was going to take a lot more countdowns on the pad. We actually did scrub once, but I figured we'd scrub several times since it's a pretty complicated vehicle.
quote by Robert Crippen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Scrub, Scrub, Rub-a dub dub
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub, dub
cleaning is such a chore.
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub, dub
cleaning's such a bore.
Washing, dusting every day,
seems there is no end.
I know that when I'm finished
it will start all over again.
Windows, floors and kitchen sinks
just can't seem to stay clean.
The kids go out. The kids come in
and there's the same old scene.
Wash the clothes. Let them dry.
Put them on to wear.
Before the day is over
there's a spot that wasn't there.
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub dub
when will it ever stop?
If I could find those rub-a dub men
I'd gladly give them my mop.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Germ Free Adolescent
I know you're antiseptic
Your deodorant smells nice
I'd like to get to know you
But you're deep frozen like the ice
He's a germ free adolescent
Cleanliness is her obsession
Cleans her teeth ten times a day
Scrub away scrub away scrub away
The S.R. way....
You may get to touch her
If your gloves are sterilised
Rinse your mouth with listerine
Blow disinfectant in her eyes
Her phobia is infection
She needs one to survive
It's her built-in protection
Without fear she'd give up and die
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Germ Free Adolescent
I know you're antiseptic
Your deodorant smells nice
I'd like to get to know you
But you're deep frozen like the ice
He's a germ free adolescent
Cleanliness is her obsession
Cleans her teeth ten times a day
Scrub away scrub away scrub away
The S.R. way....
You may get to touch her
If your gloves are sterilised
Rinse your mouth with listerine
Blow disinfectant in her eyes
Her phobia is infection
She needs one to survive
It's her built-in protection
Without fear she'd give up and die
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lake Eliza
THE SAND was heavy on our feet,
A Christmas sky was o’er us,
And half a mile through dust and heat
Lake ’Liza lay before us.
‘You’ll have a long and heavy tramp’—
So said the last adviser—
‘You can’t do better than to camp
To-night at Lake Eliza.’
We quite forgot our aching shanks,
A cheerful spirit caught us;
We thought of green and shady banks,
We thought of pleasant waters.
’Neath sky as niggard of its rain
As of his gold the miser,
By mulga scrub and lignum plain
We’d tramp’d to Lake Eliza.
A patch to grey discoloured sand,
A fringe of tufty grasses,
A lonely pub in mulga scrub
Is all the stranger passes.
He’d pass the Lake a dozen times
And yet be none the wiser;
I hope that I shall never be
As dry as Lake Eliza.
No patch of green or water seen
To cheer the weary plodder;
The grass is tough as fencing-wire,
And just as good for fodder.
And when I see it mentioned in
Some local ADVERTISER,
’Twill make me laugh, or make me grin—
The name of ‘Lake Eliza.’
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Famine and The Feast
THE FAMINE
Cackle and lay, cackle and lay!
How many eggs did you get to-day?
None in the manger, and none in the shed,
None in the box where the chickens are fed,
None in the tussocks and none in the tub,
And only a little one out in the scrub.
Oh, I say! Dumplings to-day.
I fear that the hens must be laying away.
THE FEAST
Cackle and lay, cackle and lay!
How many eggs did you get to-day?
Two in the manger, and four in the shed,
Six in the box where the chickens are fed,
Two in the tussocks and ten in the tub,
And nearly two dozen right out in the scrub.
Hip, hooray! Pudding to-day!
I think that the hens are beginning to lay.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Obama Wont Mama
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
Obama wont mama no ship,
With folks on it lazy.
He's already warned there'll be some changes made.
It you think he'll let you sit,
You're crazy.
He's gonna make discipline stick quick.
If you don't believe it...
You'll believe it when you sweep up your ssshhhh...
Itsy bits.
With sweat and elbows greased to mix.
You wont have time for bitterness.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
Ooooohhhh!
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
Change, real change you can believe.
You might as well roll up your sleeves...
Hand a dustpan to those sleeping.
Obama wont mama no ship,
With folks on it lazy.
He's already warned there'll be some changes made.
It you think he'll let you sit,
You're crazy.
He's gonna make discipline stick quick.
If you don't believe it...
You'll believe it when you sweep up your ssshhhh...
Itsy bits.
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
'WE CAN...'
And,
You will!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stolen Generation
They took me from my mother
But I didn’t even know
I was just a few months old
And she knew not where I’d go
She was a big black woman
I don’t know about my dad
Its now I have my grandchildren
That I’m starting to feel sad
I have blue eyes and had blonde hair
But it’s now greying gradually
I couldn’t say I was an Abo
Or they’ take the brush to me
Scrub away your blackness
Said the nuns in the Church school
Religion’s here to save you
But you must obey our rules
Rule one – you just be grateful
You’re in white society
Rule two – you must be silent
And accept humility
I scrubbed and scrubbed my body
Till I couldn’t scrub no more
The scrubbing didn’t make me white
Just made my skin red raw
I was made to feel ashamed you see
Of being just what I am
And those bastards in the priest house
Were even crueller than
Those who’d broke a family
And split us up at birth
That’s why they should say sorry
For all that they are worth.
poem by David Keig
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Drought Year
That time of drought the embered air
burned to the roots of timber and grass.
The crackling lime-scrub would not bear
and Mooni Creek was sand that year.
The dingo's cry was strange to hear.
I heard the dingoes cry
in the scrub on the Thirty-mile Dry.
I saw the wedgetail take his fill
perching on the seething skull.
I saw the eel wither where he curled
in the last blood-drop of a spent world.
I heard the bone whisper in the hide
of the big red horse that lay where he died.
Prop that horse up, make him stand,
hoofs turned down in the bitter sand
make him stand at the gate of the Thirty-mile Dry.
Turn this way and you will die-
and strange and loud was the dingoes' cry.
poem by Judith Wright
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Mustering Song
The boss last night in the hut did say
"We start to muster at break of day;
So be up first thing, and don't be slow;
Saddle your horses and off you go."
So early in the morning, so early in the morning,
So early in the morning, before the break of day.
Such a night in the yard there never was seen
(The horses were fat and the grass was green):
Bursting of girths and slipping of packs
As the stockmen saddled the fastest hacks.
Across the plain we jog along
Over gully, swamp, and billabong;
We dropp on a mob pretty lively, too
We round 'em up and give 'em a slue.
Now the scrub grows thick and the cattle are wild,
A regular caution to this 'ere child
A new chum man on an old chum horse,
Who sails through the scrub as a matter of course.
I was close up stuck in a rotten bog;
I got a buster jumping a log;
I found this scouting rather hot,
So I joined the niggers with the lot we'd got.
A long-haired shepherd we chanced to meet
With a water bag, billy, and dog complete;
He came too close to a knocked up steer,
Who up a sapling made him clear.
Now on every side we faintly hear
The crack of the stockwhip drawing near;
To the camp the cattle soon converge,
As from the thick scrub they emerge.
We hastily comfort the inner man
With the warm contents of the billy can;
The beef and damper are passed about
Before we tackle the cutting out.
We're at it now—that bally calf
Would surely make a sick man laugh;
The silly fool can't take a joke;
I hope some day in the drought he'll croak.
We've 'em now—the cows and calves
(Things here are never done by halves):
Strangers, workers, and milkers, too,
Of scrubbers also not a few.
It's getting late, we'd better push;
'Tis a good long way across the bush,
And the mob to drive are middling hard;
I do not think we'll reach the yard.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reverse gear
At times
Reverse gear
Make the vehicle
Proceed forward.
Public pleasure
There on
Scraped horse.
Decision delayed
To give statement
After touching
All stones.
At times
Difficult to say
The incidents
You faced.
And the movement
Of the vehicle
You are in.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Joy Ride
Like a dog with the television on
Staring blankly at the screen the way you do
I'll keep you there and your money too
If you all line up inside of here
Do what I tell ya and everything will be okay
And if youre lost, I got a bobblehead Jesus
Get on your knees, that Jesus will please ya'
Money is clean if we scrub it good with
Guns and gasoline, I'm gonna save the world
Nothing's obscene if we only close our eyes
Boys and girls welcome to this joy ride
Come on all of you wont left alive
Get in line and everything will be fine
We gotta toss our troubles to the wind
We need 'em like we did in the end
Money is clean if we scrub it good with
Guns and gasoline, I'm gonna save the world
Nothing's obscene if we only close our eyes
Boys and girls welcome to this joy ride
Joyride, joyride, joyride
[scatting]
Taking everything into account the way you should
Light it up, light it up cuz it be so good
Woah, Yeah, Oh, all of us praying now
Now, Yeah, Yeah, all of us praying now
What you got [scatting]..always fade away
Money is clean if we scrub it good with
Guns and gasoline, I'm gonna save the world
Nothing's obscene if we only close our eyes
Boys and girls welcome to this joyride
Joyride, joyride, joyride
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Groping.....
the language is barbaric,
do not equate it violence but with something that
we cannot understand
because no matter what we do
open our minds like windows
scrub the floor to start with a clean slate
even take the roof
at its senseless option
the vessel still cannot hold on
to what is given
perhaps the vessel is just too small
or the message is
egyptian
like thai characters or
arabic
we give up
perhaps there is nothing to be understood at all
but something only to be felt
like warm or cold,
or hot potato or melting ice cream in our tongues
yes, do not figure out
because there is nothing to be
figured
it is a jargon, a drool,
a language of feelings,
so miserable and
enigmatic simply because
the hands of thoughts are groping in the darkness
and there is nothing there
except the coldness
and the silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jack Cornstalk as a Drover
“Dry scrub and dusty clearing
The long, hot, drowsy day;
The land line ever nearing
And ever far away.
poem by Henry Lawson
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In The Darkness of The Theatre Many False Things Who Bloom And Forage
Scrub pines
And Ajax,
Ruby Red
Grapefruit
And
Thumbtacks-
A lost
Shopping list.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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The Camp Fires of the Past
A thousand, thousand camp fires every night,
in ages gone, would twinkle to the dark
from crest and valley in the rolling bush,
from mulga scrub and mallee scrub, from dunes
of Central sand, from gaps in straggling ranges,
from gibber plains and plains of iron-wood,
through leaves and in the open, from the mangroves
by shore of Carpenteria, from rocks
and beaches of the Bight.....for countless aeons,
a thousand, thousand camp fires burned each night,
and, by the fires, the Old Men told their tales
which held their listeners spellbound.... Every night
among the fires men chanted to the beat
of stick and boomerangs and clap of hands,
or drone-and-boom of didgeridoo, the songs
rising and falling, trailing, quickening,
while eyes gleamed bright, through smoke drift, bodies shone
and dusked in fitful glow amid the shadows.......
poem by Rex Ingamells
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The Fool and the Fire
A fool and a bag in a belt of scrub,
Cloudless skies and the still hot days,
And the countryside's in a mad hubbub;
Terror is here and the world's ablaze.
Five thousand sheep went West today,
Bell's home at the crossing and Casey's pub;
And the cause of it all is a world away;
A fool with a bag who passed the scrub.
An oaf with a match in a mile of grass,
Where yesterday the skies shone clear;
But fury leapt where he came to pass;
And now, ten miles away, comes fear.
Men toil and sweat in the reeking smoke
That curling drifts to a sky of brass.
And now black ruin and homeless folk
Are toll to an oaf in a mile of grass.
If the fool be caught can the fool repay?
What is to do but build again,
And hope for the dawn of a better day,
When folly is shorn from the ways of men;
What is to do but hope and pray.
While the scars heal slow in a blackened land,
That the fool shall no more pass this way
With the seeds of terror in his hand.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Adventure
We found one evening, in the scrub,
a road the timber-getters made,
a winding, dim, mysterious track,
and we raced down it, half afraid.
The wild-hop vines grew high aloft,
a winter's chill was in the air,
and trailing sarsaparilla swung
it's purple glory everywhere.
Then, curled within a hollow stump
down in a gully dim and deep,
we held our breaths with awe to find
four dingo puppies fast asleep!
We stroked them, trembling, for we knew
that somewhere in the forest dim,
there lurked amid the gathering shades
the gaunt old mother, fierce and grim.
The dry leaves rustled, back we sped
to where the homelight beckoned warm,
to supper-time and Mother's smile;
and nestling near her safe from harm.
We, thrilling, gazed into the night
where twinkling stars rose high and dim,
above the darksome scrub, where lurked
the dingo mother fierce and grim!
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Bath Of Least Resistance
Too many words on the the tip of my tongue and
I can never figure out
When to speak when to shout when to shut up
When to knock myself out
I need a brainwash
Gray-matter bath
I need the clutter all
Thrown in the trash
So could ya please throw my head in a tub?
I could really use a cereberal scrub
Wash away all I know
It's an overrated frontal lobe
Expensive thrills
sexual perversity
are always filling my mind
Mixed with guilt
Cause of bombs over dresden
Are kinda bringing me down
I need a brainwash
Gray-matter bath
I need the clutter all
Thrown in the trash
I need a brainwash cause I'm aloon
Cause Im a psycho-babble brain
A real life looney toon
A mixed up maniac, Im certifyable
So put me in a room right next to Nicholson
And give me thorazine Cause all I wanna do
Is sing traditional songs
But I like to sing in minor technologies
Not making sense
So could you please throw my head in a tub
I could really use a cereberal scrub
Waste away all I know
It's an over rated frontal lobe
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Complicated
So complicated, so complicated
Just wanna blow my horn
So complicated, so complicated
Just wanna know the score
Are you telling me that everythings fine
When I cant even tie my shoes
Better get into a new frame of mind
When I dont have to think about the business no more
'cause I just wanna blow my horn
The telephone is ringing out
But it dont understand my blues
And how much longer will it take
Until they get the news
The weather man said it was good
He forecast it was truly great
So if you change your train of thought
You know it wont be late
Too complicated, too complicated
You know this crazy scene
Too complicated, too complicated
No one says what they mean
Are you telling me that everythings fine
When I cant even tie my shoes
Better get into a new frame of mind
When I dont have to think about the business no more
'cause I just wanna blow my horn.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Billy Chips In
Boss Oberseer, Dat BULLUMTIN! Goo' day, boss Plurry 'ot!
Bloke tell me writum BULLUMTIN, bin plenty bacca got.
'You Billy, makum writin'-yabber,' bloke he say to me;
'Him quick bin pay fer writin' - plenty tsugar plenty tea.'
S'pose mine write it pretty good, you gib it two t'ree poun'?
Bin teachum mishum station plenty good write yabber down.
Mine jes' bin readin' BULLUMTIN alonga scrub. Ma word!
Mine tink it Gub'mint yabber 'bout de bee' de kin I heard.
Mine tink it pitcher budgerry - dat Lin'say an' dat Hop.
Mine tink it dem corrob'ree songs been alla same up top.
Bin plenty good, dat lubra yabber; Red Page, berry fine;
Dat White Australia policy jes' same alonga mine.
But, tell you straight, boss, all dat talk 'bout 'possum, 'roo and snake,
Bin pull your leg, mine tink it. It bin all a plurry fake.
Mine s'pose dem blokes bin walkabout dat bush down Sydney way.
Bin talkum t'ro' dere ploomin' hat 'bout eberyting dey say!
Bin catchum snake, mine tink it, outer bottle, longa pub.
Too much dam lie about dem tings dey neber seen in scrub.
Ma wud! Mine plenty bin in bush; bin plenty much out back,
But neber meet dem pfellers anywhere alonga track.
Mine tink dey catchum too much corns dey walk alonga scrub,
Dey don't bin losum sight of bed an' plenty pfeller grub.
Mine neber meet dat 'Dandalup' or 'Wang,' or 'William Cann.'
Dat 'Quan,' mine tink, drive butcher cart, an' 'Snell' bin tramway man.
Mine tell you, boss, dem blokes no good; dey all bin habin' you.
Mine tink dat 'Chimmie Pannican' bin plurry chackeroo!
So boss, you listen longa me; you make quick catchum sack,
An' Billy him bin send you plenty yabber 'bout outback.
S'pose you gib it glasserrum, mine writum Wil' Cat too.
You gib it bottle rum, mine run whole plurry show for you.
Don' bin forgettum bacca, rum, when you bin writin' nex';
Mine wantum plenty bad; ma wud! Mine bin yours, BILLY REX.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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