Lyrics:

I was short of a dollar so I called on a bloke
Who’s pay wasn't good, his gear was a joke
You can't pick and choose when you're down on your luck
And your only profession is err drivin' a truck
So we talked for a spell and he gave me a job
This cunning ole guy known as Bent-Axle Bob
The rig which he owned was an F model Mack
And the run that I drew was the Territory track
Bob's brakes was the kind which no other would cart
The places he sent me would just break your heart
From dead-ends in Balmain to drill rigs out west
With the sands of a desert, put your gears to the test
But I battled along an' I shifted some weight
Old Bent-Axle whinged every time I ran late
Small wonder if you saw the smoke from the pump
And saw half the metal that I found in the sump
(Oh yeah, that's right.)
The trailers were buckled, the tyres were worn
The tarps which he owned were tattered and torn
The dogs and the chains were all rusty and joined
Oh was easy to see how his nickname was coined
Every axle was bent and the dolly was cracked
The kingpins was strained from the loads they had hacked
I did what I could mate, yes I really tried
Old Bent Axle whinged 'til the day that he died
(He did yeah)
I'm sittin' here at home an' I'm out of a job
No longer employed by old Bent Axle Bob
I note from the lawyer, I read what's inside
Seems I have a road train now that old Bent Axle died
Yes I'm heir to the fortune of Bent Axle Bob
'I needed a good driver an' you need a job
You can drive this old rig to the scrap dealers dump
Complete with bent axles and that smokey fuel pump.'
Complete with bent axles and smokey fuel pump
You can drive this old wreck to the scrap dealers dump
(And leave it there.)