About this song
Cactus Blitz comes from island life: place, belonging, summer energy and the way a local home can open the imagination to a much bigger world.
Lyrics
A true Straddie tale of grit, sawdust, and too much bloody green sharp cactus. Angel Black, legend down at the sport & fish, Sellin’ rods, bait, and the odd wish. But back at his joint? A jungle parade, One cactus gone rogue, like it just got paid. Spines stretchin’ up to the power pole, Steps swallowed whole like it had a soul. He calls up Luke, “mate, we’ve got to attack, Bring the tools and the trailer, no turnin’ back.” It’s cactus blitz, in full-bore sun, Thirty-four degrees, no place to run. Recip saw wailin’, pole saw swingin’, Wasps in the blooms with their war drums ringin’. Two full loads in the trailer stacked, Raced the dump clock, barely got it packed. Angel’s sweatin’ through his BCF tee, Luke’s drippin’ like a mango tree. Wasps cranky, boots full of prickles, T-shirts glued on, stingin’ like tickles. Dump guy glarin’ arms folded tight, “Got ten minutes, boys. Make it right.” No dramas, no chatter, just drag and throw, We’re not here for praise, just a cactus show. No mailman comin’, no stairs to the door, Just a Straddie front yard with a cactus war. No cape on our backs, no song on the breeze, Just tradie tenacity and sunburnt knees. Cactus blitz, job sorta done, Storm comin’ in, no place to run. Grabbed cold drinks, a slab of Gold, Back home before the sky rolled bold. Cactus still there, but the stairs are clear And that, my mate, is why we’re here. “Didn’t kill it, but we gave it a haircut.” “Yeah… and a warning.”