"Bent-Axle Bob" lyrics

I was short of a dollar, so I called on a bloke
Whose 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 ol' 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
Where the sands of the desert put your gears to the test

But I battled along and I shifted some weight
Ol' 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, that's right, yeah)

The trailers were buckled, the tires were worn
The tarps which he owned were tattered and torn
The dogs and the chains were all rusty and joined
Ah, 'twas 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
And ol' Bent-Axle whinged till the day that he died
(He did, yeah)

I'm sittin' here at home and I'm out of a job
No longer employed by ol' Bent-Axle Bob
A note from the lawyer, I read what's inside
Seems I own a road-train now, since ol' Bent-Axle died

Yes, I'm heir to the fortune of Bent-Axle Bob
I need a good driver and you need a job
You can drive this ol' rig to the scrap dealer's dump
Complete with bent axles and that smoky fuel pump
Complete with bent axles and smoky fuel pump
You can drive this ol' rig to the scrap dealer's dump
And leave it there