To sing you a song is my purpose and aim
Concerning a pollie, Costello by name
The Liberals’ darling, a financial whiz
He’s Federal Treasurer that’s what he is
When he was a baby his mother said “Pete
Most little children are cuddly and sweet
Most mothers their dear little babies adore
But you are a bastard and that is for sure”

His childhood was spent doing horrible things
Like tearing off poor little butteflies’ wings
Bullying infants, reneging on bets
Robbing his Granny and torturing pets
When he was just fourteen his father said “Son
I’m really ashamed of some things that I’ve done
I poisoned my mates with a tainted home-brew
But my cardinal error was fathering you”

He sugared the petrol, he short-sheeted beds
He filled up the air vents with rotten prawn heads
He was selfish, vindictive and shallow and cruel
He was king of the dobbers when he went to school
The neighbours took up a collection one day
To buy him a ticket and send him away
To Bathurst or Beijing or Belfast or Rome
But no one would have him so he stayed at home.

Now he is Treasurer wielding his axe
On national broadcasting, students and blacks
Hacking and burning and kicking at heads
Til’ thousands lie trembling in fear in their beds
He derives satisfaction and joy from his work
You can tell by his cynical satisfied smirk
But don’t lose your temper and don’t lose your nerve
Remember we’re getting just what we deserve