Comedy & Poetry

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"Crawford's characters are funny. He has a native ability to make us laugh." - The Sun.

"Hysterically funny." - The Herald.

"Incredibly funny moments." - Pix Magazine

"Every page good for a giggle." - Parade.




There once was a place called Whipnel,
With a pub and a lotta dust,
They'd never won a footie match,
But to try; they'd do; or bust.

Now the main activity of Whipnel,
Was to train on a beery thirst,
And the time they ever won a match,
Well that time would be the first.

Before they ever played a match,
They all looked like moths had got to them first,
And the captain "Bluey" Searcher,
Looked dead set the bloody worst.

Now in town lobbed a Moonda tribesman,
Lookin' fit as a two leg snake,
Who turned up one day at practise,
Kickin' the ball as far as Clary's gate.

"It's a bloody dead set miracle,"
Said "Bluey" droolin' over his pot,
"If the bastard can do that in a game,
We'll beat the bloody lot.

The new blokes name was Swoopey,
With leaps that took up parts of the sky,
With super feet so fast and neat,
They'd make a Cazaly cry.

So they were due to play Crunchtown,
Dirty great bully mongrels of the leagues,

Who snarled they'd slaughter the Whipnels,
Till they'd stand bleedin', on their knees.

"We're gonna make youse turds cry,
Like screamin' babies with footrot,
The Crunchies screamed in ignorance,
"Whether youse are ready or flamin' not."

It was a ripper warm Sundee,
When the teams took to the ground,
But about their secret weapon,
The Whipnel's hadn't made a sound.

But from the moment mat they bounced the ball.
Nobody was in the race,
For where the ball had been,
There was now an empty space.

The Crunchies looked bewildered,
None of this was on their list,
They were being beaten silly,
And they weren't even pissed.

Swoopey kept on kickin' goals,
As fast as blokes could wave white flags,
And the Crunchy mob were so buggered,
Everything they had just sagged.

The "Blow in" stranger "Swoopey,
Was now a true blue hero of the town,
And their footie team had won a match,
Which in history would go down.

In Whipnel's square is Swoopey's statue,
And to add to the honour there,
It says printed at the bottom,
"Here's Swoopey" He's our Mayor.




Get me self inta this town,
Dunno where to begin,
I'm a broke travelin' salesman,
And me pockets are wearin thin.

So me main meal looks like a glass uv milk,
Served to me by an angel. 
And me hearbeats start goin' kerplonk
Feelin' like it might fall out on tha table. 

There is no way that I'm not smitten, 
Ya c'n see it on me face, 
When two dirty great unshaven mongrels, 
Pushed me right out of me space. 

Now I'm an easy goin' Bloke, 
Like most of me generation, 
But this was makin' me look untidy, 
In a most unfortunate situation. 

They were there for no good, 
To rob the tills of shops, 
And we were all in super trouble, 
As they were wanted real badl by the cops. 

But all I could see on my angel, 
Was fear as make up on her face, 
And the Hulk in me had gone green, 
At a teeth grinding pace.

I kicked one blokes groin of unhappiness, 
Dodged a bullet, Pointed down at mine, 
And knock the others head into his armpit, 
Now hidden there for all time. 

Then I can't remember what happened,
Through a crazy haze of red, 
Just I'd spread a lot of their blood around, 
Then the cops carried them off to bed. 

One magic day, She's all in white,
Though I'm still in me jeans, 
And some bloke says "Will I take`er," 
"I will" I says, whatever that bloody means. 

Fer cert she really knows how to cook me grub, 
And now we've got two tin lids,
And it turns out her old man owns the pub.
Fair dinkum, ridgee didge. 

Normaly if it's rainin' palaces, 
I'd get hit by a dunny door, 
But nawadays I'm Mack Mc Midus, 
Dancin' On a Golden Pub floor.

Truly everything I touch turns to gold. 
The wife's not entirely happy about this. 
See yez.


Piffy the Magic Monster.


Piffy the magic monster,

Ate people up, 

And he plopped some arsenic,

In his morning cup. 

He ate up little children, 

And Gobbled up old men, 

But kindly said excuse me,

When he ate up little Ben.

Now little Ben was cunning, 

And hid beneath Piffy’s tongue, 

He had inside his his jacket,

A charming scatter gun.

He truly ruly felt  put upon

Miffed ,upset and so

Softly fired both barrels 

Turning Piffy’s tummy to tell and show.


Piffy had heard the shots fire out,

And felt what had been done, 

And choked as the air came in, 

And gaps let in the sun,

And as birds flew through,

Where they shouldn’t do 

Piffy yelped out loudly

“I’ve eaten a rotten one.”


Now Benny waved to passing crowds, 

Through the holes the gun did make,

Just to reminded Piffy,

He’d done better just  eating cake, 

And  now Piffy knew from experience, 

Come breakfast, lunch or sup, 

You sometimes swallow a rotten one, 

For bad Benny’s do turn up.


In Memorioum


Horror filled the eyes of  those Mates gone.

As cliffs cried blood without stem 

And mothers art home wept for those out of sight, 

As dawn and metal changed day into night,

We shall remember them, 

No longer flags pristine. now in battered pride, 

Can be held without bodies by their side, 

Arms seek pity as they die 

Slouch hats advance in hells shrieking den,


We shall remember them.