Mick The Master Farter by Kevin Bloody Wilson Lyric & Guitar Chords

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I first met him in the classroom back in 1963
And we seemed to hit it off pretty good, we were mates, Mick and me
He wasn’t such a big kid, even back then at the start
And he wasn’t all that clever either, but Jesus he could fart

I first found that out in class one day, when things were going pretty slow
And just to keep us all amused, Mick let this fucking ripper go
Well, you should?ve been there, look, I’d describe it if I could
But I just turned around, and I said, “Hey Mick you?re fucking good”

And at the end of school Grand Final on the rugby field that time
We were getting beaten, they were 12 and we were 9
And play was 3 yards from our goal-line, when the referee called a scrum
And Mick said, “Don’t worry fellas, we’ve as good as got it won”

So we just locked ourselves down in the scrum, and we held each other?s nose
And Mick our little hooker, he let this fucking ripper go
Well, it stung their nose, and it burnt their eyes, and it even scorched the grass
And I twigged right then and there, he had a double jointed arse

Chorus:
Mick, me mate the master farter
Put the art back into farting, with his custom tailored farts
Mick, me mate the master farter
Broke new ground in breaking wind, with his double jointed arse

And it was just a couple of years later, we both went to see Kamaahl
It was a really poshy sort of show, in this great big bloody hall
And all the blokes were dressed like penguins, and you should have seen the sorts
And Kamaahl himself wore a sheilas dress, like a bloody black Boy George

And we were all locked in there like sardines, for the show to get underway
But the tuba player didn’t lob, he’d booked off crook that day
And Kamaahl said, ”Without a tuba player, I cannot commence the show”
So old Mick jumps up said, “Sambo mate, I’ll have a fucking go”

Well, from then on in I honestly thought, that the whole show would be ruined
But he just winked at me and picked that tuba up, just like he knew what he was doing
Then the maestro tapped his little stick to tell the band to start
And Mick just shut his eyes and cocked his leg, and then began to fart

Well you could have heard a pin drop, that night there in the hall
And it’s hard to say who sounded best, Mick farting or Kamaahl
Then the audience just went apeshit, they cheered and clapped and stood
And Kamaahl smiled as if to say, “Hey Mick, you?re fucking good

Chorus:
Mick me mate the master farter
Put the art back into farting, with his custom tailored farts
Mick me mate the master farter
With his true-pitch perfect, calibrated, double jointed arse

Well, good news travels fast it seems and it wasn’t very long
Before Mick got this midnight phonecall from Ben Lexan and Alan Bond
They said, ”Mick we’ve got this specialist job, and we’re prepared to pay ya
Mick old son would you consider farting for Australia”

We’ll just prop you on our brand new yacht, when there?s no sea-breeze blowing
And get Mick the master farter to start her and keep the bastard going
So Mick went into training on sausage rolls and pies
And Vegemite and Fosters beer and a scholarship from Heinz

The world had never seen before a yacht so finely groomed
Or a crew so fit and young and strong, or an arse so finely tuned
The Yanks weren’t even in the race, not even in the same class
What with Ben Lexan and his secret keel and Micks fuel injected arse

Well he come back a bloody hero didn’t he, the all Australian boy
And government commissioned this bloke to do a big statue of his koy
And I can still see Mick standing there when they confirmed his Knighthood
And Bob Hawke pinning it on saying, “Hey Mick, you?re fucking good”

Chorus:
Mick me mate the master farter
Put the class back into farting, with his designer-label farts
Mick me mate the master farter
Wth his true-pitch perfect, calibrated, turbo thrusted, fuel injected, W.I.N.G.S. protected,
double jointed arse