http://cloudstreet.org/sounds/ozfolksongaday/bundabergrum.mp3
God made the sugar cane grow where it's hot,
And teetotal abstainers to grow where it's not.
Let the sin bosun warn of perdition to come;
We'll drink it and chance it, so bring on the rum.
CHORUS:
Bundaberg rum, and it's overproof rum,
Will tan your inside and grow hair on your bum.
Let the blue ribbon beat on his empty old drum
Or his waterlogged belly, but we'll stick to our rum.
We're men who drink it, oh yes, men indeed,
Of the bushranging hairnecked olden time breed.
We shave with our axes. We dress in old rags.
We feed on old boots and we sleep on old bags.
Dull care flies away when our voices resound,
And the grass shrivels up when we spit on the ground.
When we finally die and are buried in clay,
Our bodies are pickled and never decay.
On the Morning of Judgment, when the skies are rolled back,
We'll stroll from our graves up the long golden track,
And our voices will echo throughout Kingdom Come
As we toast the archangels in Bundaberg Rum.
