Kevin Bloody Wilson Mick the Master Farter lyrics

I first met him in the classroom
back in 1963,
We seemed to hit it off pretty good,
We were mates, Mick and me
He wasn't such a big kid
even back then at the start,
and he wasn't all that clever either
but Jesus he could fart

I first found that out in class one day
when things were going pretty slow.
And just to keep us all amused
Mick let this fucking ripper go.
Well, you should have been there,
Look, I'd describe it if I could.
Buy I just turned around and said,
"Hey Mick you're fucking good!"

And at the end of school grand final,
On the rugby field that time,
We were getting beaten
They were 12 and we were 9
and play was 3 yards from our goal-line
When the referee called a scrum
Mick said, "Don't worry fellas,
we've as good as got it won."

So we just locked ourselves down in the scrum,
And we held each others nose,
And Mick our little hooker,
He let this fucking ripper go!
Well it stung their nose
and it burnt their eyes
and it even scorched the grass.
And I twigged right then and there,
He had a double-jointed arse!

Chorus

Mick, me mate the master farter,
Put the art back into farting
with his custom tailored farts,
Mick, me mate the master farter,
Broke new ground in breaking wind,
With his double-jointed arse

Verse 2

And it was just a couple of years later
we both went to see Kamahl,
It was a really poshy sort of show
in this great big bloody hall,
All the blokes were dressed like penguins,
and you should have seen the sorts,
And Kamahl himself wore a sheilas dress,
like a bloody black Boy George

We were all locked in there like sardines
for the show to get under way,
But the tuba player didn't lob,
He'd booked off crook that day,
And Kamahl said, "Without a tuba player I cannot commence the show."
So old Mick jumps up, says
"Sambo mate, I'll have a fucking go!"

Well, from then on in I honestly thought,
that the whole show would be ruinedm
But he just winked at me and picked that tuba up
just like he knew what he was doing
Then the maestro tapped his little stick,
to tell the band to start,

Mick just shut his eyes
and cocked his leg
and then began to fart!

Well you could have heard a pin drop
that night there in the hall,
And it's hard to say who sounded best
Mick farting or Kamahl
Then the audience just went apeshit,
They cheered and clapped and stood,
And Kamahl smiled as if to say,
"Hey Mick, you're fucking good."

Chorus

Mick, me mate the master farter
Put the art back into farting
with his custom tailored farts,
Mick, me mate the master farter
With his true pitch-perfect, calibrated,
double-jointed arse

Verse 3

Well good news travels fast it seems
and it wasn't very long,
Before Mick got this midnight 'phone call
from Ben Lexcen and Alan Bond,
They said, "Mick we've got this specialist job,
and we're prepared to pay ya',
Mick old son would you consider farting for Australia?"

We'll just prop you on our brand new yacht
when there's no sea-breeze blowing,
And get Mick the master farter to start her
and keep the bastard going!
So Mick went into training
on sausage rolls and pies,
And Vegemite and Fosters beer,
And a scholarship from Heinz!

The world had never seen before
a yacht so finely groomed,
Or a crew so fit and young and strong,
Or an arse so finely tuned
The Yanks weren't even in the race,
Not even in the same class
What with Ben Lexcen and his secret keel,
And Mick's fuel-injected arse

Well he come back a bloody hero didn't he?
'The All-Australian Boy',
And the government commissioned this bloke
to do a big statue of his coight,
And I can still see Mick standing there
when they confirmed his knighthood,
And Bob Hawke pinning it on saying
"Hey mick..... you're fucking good!"

Chorus

Mick, me mate the master farter,
Put the class back into farting
with his designer-label farts,
Mick, me mate the master farter,
With his true pitch-perfect, calibrated,
turbo-thrusted, fuel-injected, winds protected, double-jointed arse.