Aussie version: champion-j.ogge-j.harris

You talk like Cheryl of Balmain
And your words are so much hot air
Your clothes are Miss Myer and Target
And there’s dark roots in your blonde hair, yes there are

You live in a one bedroom granny flat
Round the corner from the bus stop
Where you keep your buckets of make-up
that you put on to go up the shop, yes you do

but what are you on about, my little spunkrat
with your bourbon and coke, and your fags
what’s going on in that head of yours
you’re a real little mystery bag, yes you are

I’ve seen all the street signs and milk crates
That you nicked from the streets round Geelong
And the trolley you stole from the Bi-Lo
That you hang out your washing upon, yes you do

you’re legendary on Karaoke nights
you know all the best Kylie songs
you hog the microphone and you show off
but you sometimes get the words wrong, yes you do

when you go away for your holidays
it’s the Gold Coast, for a highrise weekend
you’re seen in the funkiest nightclubs
where you pick up your bogan boyfriends, yes you do

when the snow falls you’re found in Ballarat
with some blokes that you’ve only just met
and you slurp your UDL vodka
and you never smoke your own cigarettes, no you don’t

I’ve seen you at the 7-11
Faggin’ with your friends in your car
I know the mob you hang round with
And what a bunch of shockers they are, yes they are

I betcha that when you get married
He’ll be from the rich side of the tracks
But I know the suburb you came from
I’ve seen you in tracky-dacks, yes I have

so look at me straight, and spill the beans
watcha gonna do, Vanessa?
Go marry some rich toff in Europe
Or remain the hairdresser you are, ha ha ha