Wangaratta Gazza

I've been sippin' this high class liquor for months, it's time to get back on the flaggon

Because my wallet is drained and I'm stuck in the rain

I can't buy an umbrella because I spent all my skrilla

And my cat is sick and wet, I cannot take him to the vet

Because I spent all my dimes on all these high class times

And i've been sitting around licking my wounds for too long

It's time to get back on the wagon

But my days as a chef have left my fingers dead

And my days as a smoker have left my lungs choking

And my days as a drinker have left my body sinking

And I'm struggling to climb upon it

Cake pie sausage meat

Sun tree grass eat

Rock sauce birthday party

Best friend present, old glass barbie

Rain cloud tea cold

Twenty six wrinkles old

Blue price solid gone

Hammer car walking fun

Well Gazza grew fatter and moved to Wangaratta

He got a dog but he couldn't pat her, staring games and chitter chatter

Then one day he hitched to Rosedale, put the poor bitch up for sale

Got $10 and a pat on the back, headed west along a beaten track

Lost 50 kilos, joined a gang, looting towns as he sang a happy song of cake and pie

A menacing glare filled up his eye

And wanted posters with Gazza's face were pinned up all over the place

Twenty thousand to the bloke who brings Gaz in strung up in rope

And shoots him dead when he's confessed to all his blunders, sins and mess

Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide Gaz went to town thinking genocide

He killed the lot except for the dog who was watching quietly from a rock

She had been back east in Rosedale, and come back west to Morwell

Run jump catch ball

Dodge bullet kill them all

Sick 'em sick 'em sick 'em pooch

Go for the jugular I'll get the loot

Escape horse bush cave

Eucalyptus red dirt trail

Search party Pangerang tracker

Hands up Gaz put down your tucker

You're coming with us you wretched fucker!

But not the dog someone shoot that fucker

Let's haul Gazza back to Wangaratta and hang the fucker

There'll be twenty thousand pounds in our hands thanks to you Gazza

We'll piss on your body when it's limp and rotting you wretched fucker!

Gazza was hung in the town square at midday

The January sun it beat hot

The noose had been tightened and the trap had fallen open

And Gazza, he took a long drop

The crowd let out a cheer, they celebrated with mugs of beer

And they all agreed old Gaz had copped his lot

And then they cut him down and chopped him up

And buried him out near Myrtleford

There was no tombstone, the clergyman forgot it