Standard (EADGBE)

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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