Mick the Master Farter

I first met him in the classroom Back in 1963 We seemed to hit it off pretty good We were mates mick and me He wasn't such a big kid Even back then at the start And he wasn't all that clever either But Jesus he could fart I first found that out in class one day When things were going pretty slow And just to keep us all amused Mick let this fucking ripper go Well, you should have been there Look, I'd describe it if I could But I just turned around and I said "Hey Mick your fucking good!" And at the eng of school Grand Final On the rugby field that time We were getting beaten They were 12 and we were 9 And play was 3 yards from our goal-line When the referee called a scrum And mick said, "Don't worry fellas We've as good as got it won" So we just locked ourselves down in the scrum And we held eachothers nose And mick our little hooker He let this fucking ripper go Well, it stung their nose And it burnt their eyes And it even scorched the grass And I twigged right then and there He had a double jointed arse Mick, me mate the master farter Put the art back into farting With his custom tailored farts Mick, me mate the master farter Broke new ground in breaking wind With his double jointed arse And it was just a couple of years later We both went to seee Kamaahl It was a really poshy sort of show In this great big bloody hall All the blokes were dressed like penguins Well you should have seen the sorts And Kamaahl himself wore a sheilas dress Like a bloody black boy george We were all locked in there like sardines For the show to get underway But the tuber player didn't log He'd booked off crook that day And Kamaahl said, "Without a tuber player I cannot commence the show" So old mick jumps up says "Sambo mate, I'll have a fucking go" Well, from then on in I honestly thought That the whole show would be ruined But he just winked at me and picked that tuber up Just like he knew what he was doing Then the maestro tapped his little stick To tell the band to start And mick just shut his eyes and cocked His leg And then began to fart Well you could have heard a pin drop That night there in the hall And it's hard to say who sounded best Mick farting or Kamaahl Then the audience just went apeshit They cheered and clapped and stood And Kamaahl smiled as if to say Hey Mick, your fucking good Mick me mate the master farter Put the art back into farting With his custom tailored farts Mick me mate the master farter With his True-pitch perfect, calibrated Double jointed arse Well, good news travels fast it seems And it wasn't very long Before Mick got this midnight phonecall From Ben Lexan and Alan Bond They said, "Mick we've got this specialist job And we're prepared to pay ya' Mick old son would you consider farting for Australia?" We'll just prop you on our brand new yatch When theres no sea-breeze blowing And get Mick the master farter to start Her and keep the bastard going So Mick went into training On sausage rolls and pies And Vegemite and Fosters beer And a schollarship from Heinz The world had never seen before A yatch so finely groomed Or a crew so fit and young and strong Or an arse so finely tuned The Yanks weren't even in the race Not even in the same class What with Ben Lexan and his secret keel And Micks fuel injeted arse Well he come back a bloody hero didn't he The old Australian boy And government comissioned this bloke To do a big statue of his Koy And I can still see Mick standing there When they confirmed his Knighthood And Bob Hawke pinning it on saying "Hey mick... your fucking good!" Mick me mate the master farter Put the class back into farting With his designer-lable farts Mick me mate the master farted With his True-pitch perfect calibrated Turbo thrusted, fuel injected, W.I.N.G.S.proteced, double jointed arse.