MAD JACK'S CITRON CRESTED COCKATOO poem by SLIM ASHBY, AN AUSSIE. paintography and photography by MICHAEL (MIGUEL) FORBUS MAD JACK'S COCKATOO Now Jack was a bloke who could drink "Holy Smoke!" He could swig twenty mugs to my ten, And that old cockatoo it could sink quite a few and it drank with the rest of the men One day when the heat was just plain was hard to beat, Mad Jack and his old cockatoo, Came in from the west to the "Old Swag Man's Rest" And they ordered up schooners for two, When these had gone down he popped out half a crown and they drank till their money was spent, Then he pulled out a note from his old tattered coat And between them they drank every cent, Then that old cockatoo it swore red, black and blue, And it knocked all the mugs off the bar, Then it flew through the air and it pulled at the hair, Of a chap who was drinking "Three Star", And it jerked out the pegs from the barrels and kegs Knocked the bottles all down from the shelf, With a sound like a cheer it dived into the beer and it finished up drowning itself When poor Jack awoke not a word then was spoke, But he cried like a lost husband's wife, And with each falling tear made a flood so severe, That the men had to swim for their life, Now poor jack was drowned and when finally found he was lying there stiffened and blue, It was told far and wide that stretched out by his side Was his pack mate ..... the old cockatoo.