Whacker was a sprightly lad,
About twenty-two or three,
Taking on lamb marking jobs,
With brother Arch and me.
A job arose for the three of us,
Near outback Dirranbandi,
A place that's not salubrious,
But, the money would be handy.
The three of us were packed in tight,
In Whackers Fordson Ute,
And all the way from Brisbane,
He whinged about his, tooth.
Seems he had a mouldy molar
The aching was no joke,
The bugger should have had it fixed,
Before we left the “Smoke”.
We landed at evening tucker time,
With canvas swag and billycan,
Whacker had jobs organised,
With a joker, known as Gilligan.
Handshakes, mugs of tea all round,
Words from old man Gilligan,
He supplies the tucker and tent,
We already had our billycan.
We started work in the early morn,
Divesting lambs of tails and knackers,
But, the bleating of the knackered, lambs,
Was not a patch on Whackers!
Whacker's moaning and he's wailing,
Clutching at his painful jaw,
The failing carbide light is dim,
We can't see down his maw,
The noise has woken Gilligan,
He squeals he needs his sleep,
Missus and sleeping dogs aroused,
And the bloody bleating sheep.
Gilligan strikes a short wax match,
What he sees makes him recoil,
The mouldy molars looking bad,
Like a big pulsating, boil.
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Old Gilligan has been around,
An improviser and a trier,
Requests of me and brother, Arch,
To get his pointed pliers.
Whacker's petrified with fear,
The terror has him choking,
Poor old Gilligan's real took back,
Yells, “Strewth! I'm only joking!”
Tried a dash of oil of cloves,
But the molars getting worse,
There's not a dentist hereabouts,
He'll have to see the big Bush Nurse.
She's about an hour and half away,
Maybe more in Whackers Ute,
The bloody things only got two gears,
And needs a tune to boot.
The nurse is on the cottage steps,
Arms folded on her chest,
Whacker looks her up and down,
Yelps, “I'd sooner see the Vet.”
She has a big pro wrestler build,
Thighs like Mal Meninga,
Hairy arms and bushy brows,
On one hand, a missing finger.
She doesn't have a dentist chair,
Her range of instruments, pathetic,
Then she deals the final blow,
“I ain't got anaesthetic!”
Whackers eyes went upwards,
Disappearing in his head,
Unconscious in the rocking chair,
We thought he might be dead.
Astride with her Meninga thighs,
Did she know what she's about?
Bloody Whacker was out stone cold,
When she yanked the bugger out.
She held that mouldy molar high,
With a look of satisfaction,
She said, “you've witnessed history, boys!”
“It's my first Outback Extraction”.
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