The Great Australian Whinger

Lyrics

He was drivin' for himself, the time I met him first of all On the road out near Mount Isa, on the last leg of his haul He was underneath the trailer, usin' language pretty free When I did a stupid thing, I said, G'day mate, how would you be? He gave the wheel a thump and chucked his spanner in the air But it hit the tray and flew right back, carvin' furrows in his hair And where the sweat and dust had mingled till it looked like mud to me Then he shoved his face in mine and yelled, How thе hell do you think I'd be? How should I be, you stupid fool? Can't you see thе spot I'm in? I've done the tire, and every spare, and now the bearing's packed it in My spine's a concertina from this corrugated road And that wasn't mud you saw in my hair when I was underneath the load It's a hundred here in the waterbag, can't you hear the cattle bawl? And someone's pinched the esky, and there's no beer left at all Oh, I'd say a man's a mug, he's gotta be, to stay in this lousy game I'd break his neck if I found the bloke who invented these road trains Can't you see I haven't had a bath for days, nor a decent hour's sleep? And just get a load of me, will ya! Take a look at this lousy heap If you kicked her wheel she'd crumple up in a mound of rot and rust But I'm supposed to be on time, you know; hell, what a man'll do for a crust I could have had a job in New South Wales, but I had to knock it back 'Cause the wife's got a maintenance order and two bloodhounds on my track And my last cheque hasn't turned up yet, three processions threatening me And you've got the hide to ask how I am How the hell do you think I'd be, eh? Now how do you think I'd be?   I saw him next in an army truck, movin' out with all the mob Asked how the world was treatin' him, and how he liked his job You've gotta be jokin', he replied, get a load of the gear I'm in Boots like canoes, take a look at my hat, it must be a good size ten Have a go at my shirt if you want a laugh, and just get a load of the strides There's room enough in the seat of my pants for the whole platoon to hide Join the Army and see the world, they said, but they didn't mention any war Now I get shot at whenever I blink, and I don't even know what for The mosquitoes eat me half alive, while the leeches form a queue The sergeant wants more volunteers, grabs me and says, You'll do So I'm crawlin' 'round this jungle floor in a heap of sloppy muck I might as well be haulin' cows in that good ol' cattle truck Can't sleep in peace because some clown is always tryin' to bowl me The tucker's crook and we're stuck with a cook who's an alcho, and the spuds are moldy My bayonet's blunt, my rifle's bent; you havin' a go at me? Whaddya mean "How do I like it"? How do you expect me to be? How the hell d'you think I'd be?   At last in Paradise, I, I saw the same truck-drivin' man He said, Don't say it, gimme a break, don't ask me how I am You know that beat-up road train? Well, Saint Peter's got it now And since he's never driven one, I'm supposed to show him how And look at this flamin' nightgown, it cops the grease when I'm hookin' up the trailer I'm supposed to keep the darn thing clean, man's a total failure These sandals let my feet get cold, and my gown needs takin' up It got caught in the pedals this morning, and almost wrecked the truck Come on mate, gimme a hand with this halo will ya? It keeps slippin' 'round my ears The rotten thing needs panel beatin', I bet it's had these dents for years And look at the wings, they're moltin'––feathers everywhere Get a gander at the moth-eaten thing, it's enough to make you swear And get a load of the harp they gave me, all these strings to tune And band practice starts in five minutes' time, I believe, and I'll never be ready that soon And now there's a G string missin', and look, no bottom C Now what would you do in my place? How would you flamin' well be? How d'you expect a man to be? How would a man bloody well be?