Song: The Sydney Argus Ace Reporter Poem by Dave SmithWhite

As a paid newshound or snoop,
My name is I B Croupe.
The Sydney Argus Ace Reporter.
I send my willing troops,
To uncover thrilling scoops.
I am a famous printer, block and mortar.

To my circle known as 'Icky',
I understand a sticky
Wicket in the cricket match of life.
One false stroke under cover,
Can catch out the careless lover,
And bowl the maiden over, in a trice.

Not stumped by spin and loop,
I won't be jumping hoops.
Expect from me no easy given quarter.
For the man named I B Croupe,
Is neither patsy, mug or dupe;
He won't be swept away like dirty water.

To my circle known as 'Icky',
I dare say, they say, tricky;
But the stories that I publish
Are the scandals of our time.
For this work, I'm paid 'big bikkies',
Like a fox, that guards the chickies,
I stay alert, with an 'idee fixee',
And the possibilities of crime.

My will won't flag or droop,
For my name is I B Croupe.
The Sydney Argus Ace Reporter.
I refuse to bow or stoop,
To the use of any group;
I'll simply cut my jib a little shorter!