We cut the * at Arrowhead, was back in 63All happy Bob, he let them mob my pen, but made it meShot over Ned, he rang the *, and sure at number oneAn Aussie guy from Gundy Guy, and Joe the merry gunSix year and men, pen after pen, we clipped them fast and cleanI've often swore that bow and shorn, I'm better for the queenRun after run, we worked as one, with scarce a sheep betweenAt the end stand bird * left, and the likes I've not since seenThe boss was square and paid us fair, a white man through and throughWith a last wail, sewn down fast, he shouted for the crewYou should have heard, went on the board with a wild jamboreeWe cut the * at Arrowhead, way back in 63We drank to sheds, the sheerer dreads, with sheep so hard of boundDrink long and deep, two easy sheepWe're tallies high of boundAll tiles were spun, and deeds redone, and Bert sat on the kegThe classer sang the sheer in gang, and waved his wooden legAll classer Jim, he lost a limb at LL of MaineAnd drink each day, he used to say, helped ease the pain awayThe rouseys in to help the diddly chorus join with gleeThe press around, and all shed hands so drunk they couldn't seeBut now a year or two, I fear, has gone on drifting byHe's dead, and so is Ned, we're back in Gundy GuyOur Aussie mate likes to relate, just how the gang and heCut out the * at Arrowhead, way back in 63