Maybe you remember it. It involved Andrew Hansen sitting at a grand piano, singing about how when people die, regardless of what they were like in life, we see them in an overwhelmingly peachy light.

In the song, he runs through various eminent types – from his misogynist great grandpa to Steve Irwin and Stan Zemanek – to illustrate his point that "even tools turn into top blokes when they die".

It's not how they lived that counts, but how we rewrite the book

When it comes to truth, it's best to use restraint

It pays to throw away the facts and have a rose-coloured look

The tune caused some seismic outrage when it aired on the ABC in 2007.

John Howard and Kevin Rudd (on the election trail) joined the chorus of good citizens righteously horrified and thoroughly disgusted by The Chaser's lack of respect and confronting rhyme choices.

But despite the fact that The Eulogy Song is persona non grata in polite Australian circles, I found myself humming it this week in Canberra. Because the top bloke principle applies here whenever someone leaves Parliament.

It happens in the wink of an eye.

One moment you are widely regarded (by your own side as well as the opposition) as a scourge on the government – less popular than a wheelie bin full of week-old prawn shells.

Then you are sacked from your influential post. And in political death are reborn as the Patron Saint of Amazing Democratic Deeds.

Sound too good to be true? Well, just look at Joe Hockey.

This week, the former treasurer and soon-to-be former MP said his goodbyes to Parliament.

Before we get to the specifics of his farewell tour, keep in mind that Hockey was unceremoniously dumped just over a month ago.

When he challenged Tony Abbott last month, one of Malcolm Turnbull's main reasons was, "it's clear enough that the government is not successful in providing the economic leadership that we need" (a clear dig at Hockey as well as the former PM).

Hockey had a shocker as treasurer. His first budget was stinkier than those prawn shells: breaking numerous election promises, ushering in multiple damaging stand-offs with the Senate and sending the Coalition into a poll dive.

Hockey accompanied this with a raft of notable boo-boos that showed a complete lack of understanding of the electorate. This included comparing the GP co-payment to a couple of beers, holidaying in Fiji when the new Senate started, the "poor people don't drive" snafu and instructing people to "get a good job" if they wanted to afford to buy a first home.

So no wonder that even before Turnbull wangled the September 14 coup, there was plenty of talk that Hockey's days as big T were numbered.

Noting all that, let's go back to the Coalition party room meeting on Tuesday, when the member for North Sydney announced he'd be giving his valedictory the next day.

The news was met with high emotion, warm laughter, hearty applause and then a standing ovation. Abbott got up and lauded the 2014 budget as "too courageous for this Parliament".

Then, on Wednesday morning, after Hockey delivered his goodbye speech in the House, there was more lyrical waxing than an opera singer during a trip to the beautician.

"One of the giants of the Parliament is taking his leave," said Turnbull (architect of his immediate demise) in response.

"We love you [Joe] ... You have made an enormous contribution over nearly 20 years ... You have executed every office you have had ... with great passion, with imagination and with great compassion."

Even though Turnbull swapped Hockey for someone else, he followed on with, "we admire you, you have done Australia proud".

ScoMorrison (the guy who took his job!) then had the pluck to get up and praise Hockey's mateship, love of community, love of country, humour, vision and leadership as treasurer. He also opined that Hockey was "without question, the best tourism minister this place ever saw".

There were other touching speeches from Christopher Pyne, Warren Truss and Tanya Plibersek. But the most flowery of all the orations came from Bill Shorten.

"You are no ordinary Joe," the Labor leader began before telling Hockey that really good things were coming to him.

"You have time on your side. You love this country. You want to serve it."

Shorten then went on to quote Teddy Roosevelt (repeatedly) at him before concluding with: "Member for North Sydney, I envy the parliamentary life you have lived. I envy the distinction and decency with which you have lived your parliamentary life."

Wha?

This is the same Shorten who spent the last 17 months laying the boot into Hockey for his outlandish budget. It wasn't just policy-based either. With comments like, "arrogant, cigar-chomping treasurer", it was personal.

Or, as Shorten said in 2014: "This is a budget brought to you ... by a conservative treasurer whose personal comfort in life has completely robbed him of charity."

Why do we pretend that everyone's a top bloke when they leave Parliament?

Is it squeamishness around how and why they are leaving? Late-breaking sympathy? Latent camaraderie? A desire on the part of the speaker to make sure people say nice things about them when their time is up?

Whatever the reason, the practice puts both extremes of politics – the toxic and the treacly – into the implausible bin.

Both versions can't possibly be true. Indeed, we strongly suspect that neither is.

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