By Arthur Rosbrook

Come listen to my story; it’s not before been told,
About a drama in my life, that years back did unfold;
‘Twas a weekend to remember, when things went very wrong;
With a friend and family member, I camped by a billabong.

To reach our destination, we traveled on bush road,
Then had to cross an open field, weighed down with heavy load.
Nearby a herd of cattle had captured my attention
And three bulls pawing out in front, were cause for apprehension.

We didn’t like the look of them, nor they the look of us;
I told the boys to walk on fast and hoped there’d be no fuss.
I looked around for refuge but there wasn’t any there.
The look in those bulls bloodshot eyes, brought forth a silent prayer.

Next thing they were upon us, with no safe place to flee;
There was only one thing for it; Do a “Crocodile Dundee”.
As the first one came towards us, looming ominous and large,
I pointed with my finger and stopped its angry charge.

Then I rolled the great beast over and with one blow to the head,
There upon the clover, I laid it out stone dead.
One down, another two to go, I quickly looked around.
The boys were watching me in awe; they uttered not a sound.

The second bull, it charged me and I aimed a mighty blow;
I saw a glazed look in its eyes as downward it did go.
It never moved; I left it lying prostrate on the ground.
Now for the last, ‘ere danger passed; Then we’d be safe and sound.

The third was on me in a trice, seeking retribution,
But I held that critter like a vice, before its execution.
I raised my first; between its horns, let go a mighty slog;
It hit the deck and broke its neck, as I felled it like a log.

When I told this story of what happened long ago,
As wallowing in glory I described each lethal blow,
I realized none were taken in and they branded me a phoney;
I guess it’s awful hard to win - when every word’s bulloney.