Col is in the big chair,
he tries to run the show
But its hard with the blokes around him,
you’d think they’d have a go!
Young Mick is our captain,
the leader of our team
He tries to steer us forward,
and he knows it’s but a dream
Rusty’s on the winder,
spinning that big wheel
Trying to get the tonnes up,
you can hear them ropes a squeal
Gerry’s on the Jumbo,
he’s boring out a face
With a few fark me’s ,
he’s set a cracking pace
Dave is on the grader,
until, the end of day
His ears must be painted on
he’s always in the way
Tic, he’s a roustabout,
he's not here for the fun
The bullshit fly’s throughout the day ,
but, soon the job is done
Richard's, in here early,
he’s up at sparrow fart
Champing at the bit,
He’s eager for a start
Craig and Steve, are drillers,
you can tell it’s in their blood
Always staying clean,
an allergy, to mud
Robbie, the old fart,
the senior of our clan
He keeps the crusher going ,
there’s no stopping this old man
Daniel, they call wombat,
Larry, or some name
Always trying hard,
but never reaching fame
Dane, is on the bogger,
he thinks he’s good, on remotes
But. I think he ought to give it up,
and, keep to fishing boats!
Aaron, likes to bog as well,
you can tell the way he smiles
As he chases all the free dirt,
tramming it for miles
Gus and Pete, are there too,
our fitters, extraordinaire
They keep the wheels a moving,
sometimes pulling out their hair
And last there is Rachel,
Pitram, is her job
Listening to all the bullshit,
that comes from this lazy mob
I didn’t mention Lenny ,
well that’s obvious of course
He’s the one who wrote this poem,
that man has no remorse!
Len Newey 2010