Michael Hutchence In Hell

I dreamed I saw Hutchence last night,

Alive as you and me:

"Michael," I said, "I thought you're dead -

Saw the funereal on TV."

"Yeah, that's right Ron," the Hutch replied,

"That's why I'm not in heaven -

They told me no one can get in

If they've worked on Channel 7."

I just could not believe my ears,

But he looked me in the face:

"That's right, Ron: 7, 9 or 10,

And it's down to the Other Place."

"I'm in the Wanker's Section, Ron -

Where tossers only meet.

It's got a nickname down in Hell:

We call it "Brunswick St".

"I asked the Devil what I did wrong,

Could I have a second chance?

He said "You sealed your fate for good

By wearing black leather pants;

Same rule, Mike, for roller blades,

Or certain brands of runners."

"But Daryl-" I said. He cut me short:

"You call me Mr. Sommers."

"I'd met some fucking tossers, Ron,

But we've got it all down here:

There's latte drinkin', creative thinkin',

There's only foreign beer;

"I blew my chances with God, too, Ron:

He's a fucking brutal prick.

If you've no excuse for wanking,

You're down here pretty quick.

Like, A.D.D. or P.M.T -

Those excuses just won't stick:

God just replies: "P.M.O.D."

That stands for "Pull My Other Dick."

"It's a fine line, I'll tell you Ron,

Getting in to heaven:

Steve Waugh will get in quite all right,

But no way Michael Bevan.

God don't read modern poetry;

He thinks Andre Sarrano's a turd;

God prefers the sports section,

And he worships James Hird.

God just looked at Piss Christ, Ron,

Said: "Fucking wank, for mine;

That boy Jesus! Arty pounce!

It's an insult to urine."

I've got the worst news ever, Ron,

That wankers have ever heard:

I've been to God's place; now I know -

He's from the Western Suburbs!

"I want you to warn all people, Ron,

Though forget Dina Ah Neid -

Some wankers can escape their fate:

Too late for her, I'm afraid.

And don't worry about The Dirty Three;

Nor The Prodigy - 'specially Keith;

And you can sure as fuck forget about

That little cunt Peter Reith.

But warn the rest not to end up here -

Ron, you must be my saviour,

Or I might spend eternity

Talking to Helen Razor.

Now the devil calls me back to hell!

Ron, my fate to you I've showed.

One final warning I wish to give:

There's a speed camera near Punt Road."

But before Michael Hutchence disappeared

Back to his hellish prison

I heard him scream one final line

"The biggest wankers are in a band called-" Then I woke up.

Alternate verses:

"I'm in the Wanker's Section, Ron -

Where only tossers are.

It's got a nickname down in Hell:

We call it Victoria.

"I'm in the Wanker's Section, Ron

(Though the knob's taken off my door).

It's got a nickname down in Hell:

They call it the North Shore.

God don't like much of modern art;

He really hates Andre Serrano;

God prefers the sports section,

And He drives an old Monaro.