We cut the * at Arrowhead, was back in 63
All happy Bob, he let them mob my pen, but made it me
Shot over Ned, he rang the *, and sure at number one
An Aussie guy from Gundy Guy, and Joe the merry gun
Six year and men, pen after pen, we clipped them fast and clean
I've often swore that bow and shorn, I'm better for the queen
Run after run, we worked as one, with scarce a sheep between
At the end stand bird * left, and the likes I've not since seen
The boss was square and paid us fair, a white man through and through
With a last wail, sewn down fast, he shouted for the crew
You should have heard, went on the board with a wild jamboree
We cut the * at Arrowhead, way back in 63
We drank to sheds, the sheerer dreads, with sheep so hard of bound
Drink long and deep, two easy sheep
We're tallies high of bound
All tiles were spun, and deeds redone, and Bert sat on the keg
The classer sang the sheer in gang, and waved his wooden leg
All classer Jim, he lost a limb at LL of Maine
And drink each day, he used to say, helped ease the pain away
The rouseys in to help the diddly chorus join with glee
The press around, and all shed hands so drunk they couldn't see
But now a year or two, I fear, has gone on drifting by
He's dead, and so is Ned, we're back in Gundy Guy
Our Aussie mate likes to relate, just how the gang and he
Cut out the * at Arrowhead, way back in 63