Fart Saves Town

In the back of donga country there’s a tale the old folks tell

‘Bout a bloke whose name is famous in the town of Bungadell.

And if you’s like I’ll tell ya a bit about this little town,

It’s a dry and dusty place to be until the rains come down.

In nineteen twenty seven when it hadn’t rained for weeks

There was bulldust in the billabongs and dead sheep in the creeks.

But the hero of our story was soon to help them out

On the day McArthur farted and saved the town from drought.

Now no one knew too much about this joker from the scrub,

But they’d heard some yarns about him from some drovers in the pub.

Some said he came from Bunker’s Run and some said Beulah Park,

But one thing they agreed on, he sure knew how to fart.

And this was proved one day beyond a shadder of a doubt,

The day McArthur farted and saved the town from drought.

Well, Bungadell was hard and dry as a three week stale old crust,

The sheep was drinkin’ whiskey and their piss had turned to dust.

They had a dam up in the hills a mile outside of town

Which shoulda filled the water tanks, but not a drop came down.

They sent a deputation up to see what could be wrong

And found they had a problem they hadn’t reckoned on.

Old Bert’s dead horse was blocking up the channel from the dam,

You’d reckon they could shift it, but the bloody thing was jammed.

Fifty blokes with crowbars bashed it fifty days and nights,

But they couldn’t shift the bastard, it was stuck there good and tight.

They had a stack of water, but they couldn’t get it out

Till the day McArthur farted and saved the town from drought.

They blasted it with dynamite, but couldn’t get it loose,

And even Murphy’s bullock team just wasn’t any use.

“There’s only one hope left for us,” said Clancy’s brother, Blue.

“We’ll have to get McArthur and see what he can do.”

The cry went up: “McArthur! He’s the bloke who knows the art,

He could send that horse there flyin’ with a well-constructed fart!”

And so the townsfolk waited for the day to come about

For the day McArthur farted and saved the town from drought.

At last McArthur came and all the people gathered ‘round

To see the man whose fart was gonna send the waters down.

He came on two big horses with half his bum on each,

A bum so big a bloke could drive a tram between the cheeks.

McArthur was a quiet bloke, but thorough, through and through.

He said: “I’ll need some food and drink so see what you’s can do.”

They started preparations and laid out a mighty spread,

With forty tons of onions and a pile of prunes and bread.

They had fity tons of blue-vein cheese and fifty kegs of stout

On the day McArthur farted and saved the town from drought.

He sat down with a knife and fork and really knocked it back,

Then finished off the kegs of stout in thirty seconds flat.

McArthur stood up slowly and he turned his bum around,

The people all took cover as they heard a dreadful sound.

Like the roaring of a lion, and a chill ran through their hearts,

McArthur’s body trembled and let go a mighty fart.

He farted and he farted till the earth began to quake,

The hills they started shaking and the dam began to break.

But still McArthur farted till it made the thunder crack,

The winds they howled, the lightning flared, the sky was turning black.

They heard it up in China where the upside downers dwell,

They heard it up in heaven and they heard it down in hell.

I hardly need to tell ya it was really on the snout

On the day McArthur farted and saved the town from drought.

That was how McArthur saved the town of Bungadell,

His memory there still lingers on, and so, too, does the smell.

And even down in Adelaide they’ve heartd about his art,

And every other year they hold a Festival of Farts.

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