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There's a spot in West Otago
far from any handy pub
where the local jokers got browned off
and formed a rifle club.
They were rough and tough and hairy
those rare artists from the bush
especially the president
the leader of the push.
And for a job like that chaps
you need brawn instead of brains
someone to throw his weight around
and hold the bloomin' reins.
Well Charlie Chittock's just the man
he's made just for the job
it takes a powerful lot of bull
to rule this rowdy mob.
There's lofty Alex Stuart
and his little brother Swag
There's John McCann the wizard
heck he is a flamin dag
also Finlayson and Adams
what a precious pair
you'll meet every kind of rogue
if you should visit there.
Cordite Camperdown's the gun-man
with the best recorded score
he shot 70.1 way back in forty four.
There's Bias Barnes the lightweight champ
who shot his bulls blumb bob
but when the blooming strain is on
he isn't worth a nob.
There's hefty Douglas Crosan
what a lovely hunk of man
the kleen bore kid from Ardmore
amongst the also ran.
There's David moleboard Chittock
with not very much to say
but when the whips are cracking
he'll not be far away.
Art Thomas comes from Crookston
John Calder takes a lash
the Gibson boys both have a go
and Bob Risk takes the cash.
Some come along to loaf a yarn
some do a little work
one to do his honest share
is Henry, rim fire, Kirk.
Sometimes the peace is broken
and there's ruddy hell to play
the usual winner of the scrap
is Mathew, wideblade, Rea.
They come each Monday evening
and waste ammo by the case
unless you own a goldmine
you'll never stand the pace.
So listen now you jokers
who would form a little club
take a mug's advice free gratis
spend your evenings in the pub
there you'll have no ammo worries
and keep your windage right
a glass of beer in your right hand
is by far the finest sight.
J.C.M. 1950
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