Slice of heaven Sydney 1987
In a slice of Eastern heaven
in nineteen eighty seven.
I sat on twenty million dollars,
worth of paint
From on the Island.
Kowloon, Hong Kong.
Where poor people
see rich people stroll along.
My mate the bosun
Ng and I were close uns
We rolled together
In all the weather
Shipmates through and through.
I’m the officer and he’s the crew.
We knew who’s job to do.
but we were good mates too.
So I’d wander to his paint locker
Where the paint sits and waits
For brush and roller
To masticate on steel plates.
And we’d laugh and joke
About being rich and living dreams.
As we danced in rickshaws
in Kowloon and being men of means.
And I’d sit on twenty litres of two pack white
As Ng gave the paint to his merry men
To paint the bulkheads and deckheads
And heavy lifting crane heads times ten.
And we sailed from Hong Kong
And like Cooke arrived in Sydney
Ready to conquer and run amok.
And lived it up around the clock.
Which we did for a little while,
Then we came to a grinding halt.
As customs and cops came leaping out
with guns and slavering dogs by the dozen.
To abuse a phrase we were frozen.
And when the interrogation ended
It was clear I’d befriended
A man who’d upended
the laws of sunny ‘Stralia.
And the twenty litres of two pack.
And faithfully guarded by friend Ng,
Also contained an added extra…..
Twenty million dollars
Of the finest Chinese white
Heroin, poisonous shite.
Death in paint.
And I’d sat on it and laughed
As we’d planned and spammed.
And laughed together because
i’d smuggled two bottles of rum
And a kilo of baccy.