(S. Rists)
But there ain't much work when you're totally blind
Might as well just go out of my mind
Wish I could make money writing my songs
Oh stuff it, mate, pass me that bong
And like all young studs, I want a root
But there ain't no way a blind man can drive a ute
So the shag-wagon's out, what'll I do?
Find a sheep, or something goin' "moo"?
No no, that's revolting, have I no shame?
Do I want to fall foul of the RSPCA?
I can drown my sorrows in a bottle of brandy
But there's no getting round the fact that I'm randy
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