Bent-Axle Bob

Lyrics

I was short of a dollar, so I called on a bloke Whose pay wasn't good, his gear was a joke You can't pick and choose when you're down on your luck And your only profession is, err, drivin' a truck So we talked for a spell and he gave me a job This cunning ol' guy known as Bent-Axle Bob The rig which he owned was an F-model Mack And the run that I drew was the Territory Track Bob's freight was the kind which no other would cart The places he sent me would just break your heart From dead-ends in Balmain to drill rigs out West Where the sands of the desert put your gear to the test But I battled along and I shifted some weight Ol' Bent-Axle whinged every time I ran late Small wonder, if you saw the smoke from the pump And saw half the metal that I found in the sump (Oh, that's right, yeah) The trailers were buckled, the tires were worn The tarps which he owned were tattered and torn The dogs and the chains were all rusty and joined Ah, 'twas easy to see how his nickname was coined Every axle was bent and the dolly was cracked The kingpins was strained from the loads they had hacked I did what I could, mate, yes I really tried And ol' Bent-Axle whinged till the day that he died (He did, yeah) I'm sittin' here at home and I'm out of a job No longer employed by ol' Bent-Axle Bob A note from the lawyer, I read what's inside Seems I own a road-train now, since ol' Bent-Axle died Yes, I'm heir to the fortune of Bent-Axle Bob I need a good driver, if you need a job You can drive this ol' rig to the scrap dealer's dump Complete with bent axles and that smoky fuel pump Complete with bent axles and smoky fuel pump You can drive this ol' rig to the scrap dealer's dump And leave it there