It was on the hills side of the city, near an old derelict tobacco hub,
that a city council called for eviction, of the Mybong Smoko Club.
Claims of squatting smokers, on the wrong side of the council fence;
the villain, simply cigar smoke, drifting into the Mayor’s residence.
Although rumour has it, members were boisterous and somewhat brash,
in the last remaining smoker’s club, they all displayed an element of dash.
Mybong meetings were infamous for, luring flashy fillies off the streets,
their coats and manes reflected stains, of smoking and Mybong treats.
They recalled special moments, when those young women gathered round,
boys could hardly spot the cheeky smiles, through the nicotine rich cloud.
Impressing maidens with perfumed cigars and lying breathless on the rug;
there was nothing that could scorch boys lungs, in the Mybong Smoko Club.
The pompous Mayor had a fitness flare, opposing smoke and blissful screams,
he assembled the meanest possie ever seen, to extinguish the Mybong dreams.
They were thugs of muscle bound proportions, with a reputation for success,
those bodybuilders usually got their man, then would clean up all their mess.
Sporting elegant woven rat-tales, and flashing flick-knives that shone so sleek,
while a somewhat wealthy Mayor stuffed cash, into their pockets twice a week.
They faked a smoking passion, in pursuit of overthrowing that club Mybong,
to undermine from inside their walls, in order to destroy what stood so long.
Now the Possie brought along their cash, just in case an opportunity arose,
so perhaps its reasonable to imagine, just how these thugs began to impose.
With intentions of eviction, four burley bouncers began to flex their muscle,
although they never ever imagined, the Mybong girls would join this tussle.
An assignment aimed at persuading, the old men’s club that smoking kills,
turned into an ambush by the Mybong girls; flirting, with their fancy frills!
As the cowardly mission was aborted, supreme Mybong cigars passed around,
a mad Mayor yelled out ‘MUTINY!’ before his heart failed and hit the ground.
Many years and older men have passed, since that smoke-filled fateful day,
and with time a council’s quest dissolved; giving way for fancy frills some say.
Today in most local pubs and restaurants, there is hardly one wisp of smoke,
while puffing a cigar in a smoke-filled den, lives a rat-tailed very happy bloke.
Cigar Smokers Club photo borrowed from: