For years he’s been a butcher,
Travelling between the seasons,
To good old Oz and back again,
I guess he’s had his reasons.

Some say Diggers Rest,
Is a memory not so fond,
Where he shore sheep in Melbourne,
And failed to collect his bond.

He wandered down to Tassie,
A blanket and suitcase lost,
He swears one day he’ll get it back,
No matter what the cost.

And the Birdwatcher’s Bar,
Is much the worse for wear,
Since that fateful day in ninety four,
When he served a beer there.

And down Old Te Tumu road,
All residents still agree,
The flamin’ butcher from Maketu,
Was lucky he missed a tree.