“Almost 20 years ago, hundreds of furious New Zealand farmers jumped into their tractors, farm bikes and trucks and ploughed up Wellington’s main street towards parliament to kick up a stink against the so-called “fart tax” – a levy on livestock methane gases, proposed by the then-Labour government to reduce emissions.
A cow named Energy was led up the building’s granite steps and left an unwelcome mess in her wake. In doing so, she provided the opposition movement with a powerful, if indelicate, visual metaphor: rural New Zealand was ready for a mudslinging match with the capital. Just months later, the government abandoned the tax.”
By John O’Neill
A flatulence tax on cattle and sheep
Another rip-off to make us all weep
Preserving the ozone at any expense
It’s all propaganda that doesn’t make sense
Abandon the flock and abolish the herd
When it comes to survival, then nothing’s absurd
But what will we eat for daily protein?
The answer is simple, the mighty baked bean
So, plough in the forage and pastures too
Put paid to the curse of the cattle pooh
Then plant all the land with navy beans
Belching out gasses from smoky machines
The resulting erosion will wipe any smiles
Make the Greenies appear they’re suffering piles
With options so few when it comes to a meal
And the after affects still part of the deal
With the whole population gobbling baked beans
The potential was there for some horrid scenes
The worst of our fears were about to come true
The Follies were gobbling their baked beans too
And adding more fuel to their natural reserve
The electorate was poised to get its deserve
Their innards vibrated their faces contorted
The speaker collapsed, and debate was aborted
Then rising as one from babes to old Granny
With timing so perfect was almost uncanny
The whole population let off a great fart
With a bloody big bang blew the ozone apart!
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