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Bullshit Rules
Man I’m tired of clipboard kings,
Dead-eyed suits with paper wings,
Writing laws for ghosts they’ll never chase,
As doers bleed in the bureaucratic maze.
Canberra cyclists can’t crack a cartel,
Pushbike prophets can’t outsmart hell —
Meanwhile people havin’ a go get slammed,
Buried alive in the forms they never planned.
Good people trying to build,
Bad people slipping through the data spill —
Avalanche of numbers, perfect place to hide,
Criminal snowball riding the mega-slide.
Bullshit rules — choking every move we make.
Bullshit rules — every step another fake mistake.
Bullshit rules — crooks slide free while we break.
Bullshit rules — and we’re the ones who pay.
Money-laundering fantasies, foreign-ownership squeeze,
Solar sermons preached on their knees —
No empathy, no clue, no skin in the game,
Just rubber-stamp heroes with a plastic flame.
They don’t block the slackers, don’t block the drones,
They only crush the ones building homes —
Every hurdle higher, every hoop on fire,
Good people burning while the crooks climb higher.
Good people trying to build,
Bad people slipping through the data spill —
Avalanche of numbers, perfect place to hide,
Criminal snowball riding the mega-slide.
Bullshit rules — choking every move we make.
Bullshit rules — every step another fake mistake.
Bullshit rules — crooks slide free while we break.
Bullshit rules — and we’re the ones who pay.
If I were a crook, I’d know where to crawl —
Right into the avalanche, right into the sprawl.
Let the system drown itself in its own parade,
While the honest get crushed by the mess they made.
Bullshit rules — choking every move we make.
Bullshit rules — every step another fake mistake.
Bullshit rules — crooks slide free while we break.
Bullshit rules — and we’re the ones who pay.
Bullshit rules — but we’re not gonna fade.
STORY BOARD
SONG OVERVIEW
Written and produced by Tasmanian Songwriter Jason Bresnehan, Bullshit Rules is a punk rock explosion fuelled by frustration with bureaucracy, compliance overload and the widening gap between ordinary people and the systems that govern them. Built on aggressive guitars, driving drums and a sing-along chorus designed to be shouted rather than sung, the song captures a day when one administrative hurdle too many finally pushed the pressure gauge into the red.
The song speaks from the perspective of a practical, hardworking person trying to build, invest, create and move forward, only to find layer upon layer of forms, declarations, approvals and procedural obstacles standing in the way. Rather than tackling one specific government policy, the song focuses on the accumulation of countless rules that seem disconnected from reality while doing little to stop the people they were supposedly created to stop.
THE CENTRAL MESSAGE
At its core, Bullshit Rules argues that overcomplicated systems often create more work for honest people than for criminals. The lyrics repeatedly contrast ordinary people trying to build businesses, buy property and contribute to society against bad actors who disappear into vast oceans of paperwork, bureaucracy and data.
The recurring image of an "avalanche of numbers" becomes one of the song's strongest metaphors. Rather than creating clarity, information overload becomes camouflage. The song suggests that when systems become excessively complex, those determined to avoid detection simply blend into the noise while compliant people spend their time feeding the machine.
The title itself is deliberately blunt. There is no attempt to soften the message. The narrator believes the rules have moved beyond practicality and become an obstacle course that consumes enormous effort while solving very little.
THE LYRICAL JOURNEY
The opening verse introduces a world dominated by clipboard-carrying officials, policy writers and administrators. These figures are portrayed as creating rules from a distance while remaining disconnected from the realities faced by everyday people. The imagery immediately establishes a divide between those doing the work and those designing the systems that increasingly govern it.
The second verse broadens the attack beyond a single issue. Foreign ownership regulations, money laundering controls, administrative compliance and wider government interventions become part of one larger pattern. The narrator views these initiatives as examples of policy development detached from reality. Every solution appears to generate additional complexity while doing little to improve outcomes.
The bridge presents perhaps the most important idea in the song. If someone genuinely intended to break the law, the narrator argues they would simply disappear into the overwhelming scale of modern systems. The bridge transforms the song from pure anger into criticism of inefficiency. It suggests that systems can become so large and complicated that they unintentionally create cover for the very conduct they seek to prevent.
MUSICAL DIRECTION
Bullshit Rules belongs firmly in the punk rock and pub rock tradition. The song demands overdriven guitars, a pounding rhythm section and a vocal performance delivered with conviction and attitude. This is not polished arena rock. It is gritty, urgent and confrontational.
The chorus is designed for maximum audience participation. Each repetition of "Bullshit Rules" functions as a collective release valve, allowing listeners to project their own frustrations into the song. The repeated phrase acts almost like a protest chant, creating an anthem that can be shouted back at the stage by a crowd.
The overall energy sits somewhere between classic Australian pub rock, modern punk revival and working-class protest music. The objective is to create impact rather than sophistication. The song should feel loud, direct and impossible to ignore.
THE ARTWORK
The artwork perfectly reflects the central concept of the song. A massive black-and-white avalanche of fragmented rule books, signs, labels and bureaucratic debris cascades down a mountain towards a city below. At the centre of the destruction sits a rock band with guitars and drums, appearing almost swallowed by the overwhelming flood of paperwork.
The image presents bureaucracy as a force of nature. The countless signs, labels and regulatory fragments combine into a towering landslide that dominates the landscape. The city below represents ordinary people living beneath the weight of systems that continue to grow larger and more complicated.
Positioning the band at the centre of the avalanche is particularly important because it symbolises music as a response to frustration. The bureaucracy remains enormous and unstoppable, yet the musicians refuse to move. Instead of running from the avalanche, they turn up the amplifiers and play louder.
PERSONAL CONNECTION TO JASON BRESNEHAN SONGWRITER AND PRODUCER
The inspiration behind Bullshit Rules came from a single day in which multiple administrative frustrations collided at once. Property transactions, trust deed amendments, compliance requirements and procedural obligations combined into a perfect storm of bureaucracy. None of the individual issues was catastrophic. Together, however, they created a feeling that modern systems increasingly demand proof, declarations and paperwork for circumstances that are already obvious to everyone involved.
The song also reflects a broader philosophy held by Jason Bresnehan throughout his work as a business consultant and problem solver. Jason spends much of his professional life simplifying systems, eliminating waste and helping organisations focus on practical outcomes. Whenever process becomes disconnected from purpose, his instinct is to challenge it.
Perhaps most importantly, the song represents a healthier form of release. A similar day years earlier may have ended very differently. Today, frustration becomes music. The paperwork still exists. The trust deeds still need amending. The forms still need signing. But instead of being drowned in alcohol, the emotion is channelled into creative expression.
Bullshit Rules therefore becomes more than a protest song. It is a declaration that frustration can be transformed into something productive. The bureaucracy may remain, but so does the music. And sometimes the best response is to turn the amplifier up to eleven and let the windows rattle.