Bent-Axle Bob - Slim Dusty, The Travelling Country Band

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.)