Z man

Boots hit concrete — CLANG CLANG CLANG
Hi-vis vest and a rusted chain
Stubbie in hand at 10am
Whole shed groans — “ah not him again…”

Grey in the beard, grease in his veins
Thirty years talkin’ absolute stains
Every yarn starts “back in my day…”
Half the crew just walks away

Leans too close with a wolf-pack grin
Mint tin breath and nicotine skin
Winks so hard nearly pulls a hammy
Calls every supervisor “darl” and “honey”

HEY! — ZORAN!
HR’s nightmare man
HEY! — ZORAN!
Banned from the Christmas van
HEY! — ZORAN!
Slicker than diesel in sand
Dirtiest mouth in the land

Got pickup lines from ’93
None of ‘em work but he still won’t leave
Finger guns and a dodgy stare
Old cologne and secondhand flair

“Hey love, need a hand with that hose?”
Whole crew: “Mate… nobody goes.”
Laugh like a villain, coughs like sin
Teeth like bolts in a busted tin

Stories grow with every beer
“Three barmaids and a crane last year—”
Probably rubbish, mostly smoke
But he swears it down like gospel jokes


Lunchroom clears when he starts his tales
Rated R and destined to fail
Apprentices scatter, hiding their ears
Foreman’s heard ‘em for thirty years

Still he struts like a washed-up king
Greasy crown and everything
Last of a breed from a wilder time
Before HR and warning signs

ZORAN! ZORAN!
Workshop menace, loud and crude
ZORAN! ZORAN!
Bad tattoos and attitude
Big talk, no proof, all bark, all show
King of the “trust me bro”

Night shift hum and the lights burn low
Shadow moves by the rack of hose
Hear that laugh and you already know…

“Oi boys… got a story—”
“NOOOO ZORAN, LET IT GO!”

DIRTY OLD! GREASY OLD!
Never gonna change his ways
LOUD MOUTH! RED FLAG!
Ghost of the smoko days

Heavy metal