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Slim Dusty
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Mad Jacks Cockatoo
There's a man that went out, in the flood time and drought
By the banks of the outer Barcoo,
They called him 'Mad Jack', 'cos the swag on his back,
Was the perch for an old cockatoo.
By towns near and far and shed, shanty and bar
Came the arms of Mad Jack and his bird
And this tale I relate, it was told by a mate
Is just one of many I've heard.
Now Jack was a bloke who could drink, holy smoke!
He could swig twenty mugs to my ten,
And that old cockatoo it could sink quite a few
And it drank with the rest of the men.
One day when the heat was a thing hard to beat,
Mad Jack and his old cockatoo,
Came in from the west to the old 'Swagman's Rest'
And they ordered the schooners for two.
When these had gone down he pulled out half a crown
And they drank 'til their money was spent,
Then he pulled out a note from his old tattered old coat,
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And between them they drank every cent.
Then that old cockatoo it swore red, black and blue,
And it knocked all the mugs off the bar,
Then it flew through the air and it pulled at the hair
Of a chap who was drinking 'Three Star',
And it jerked out the pegs from the barrels and kegs,
Knocked the bottles all down from the shelf,
With a sound like a cheer it dived into the beer
And it finished up drowning itself.
When poor Jack awoke not a word then was spoke,
But he cried like a lost husband's wife,
And with each falling tear made a flood with the beer,
And the men had to swim for their life,
Now poor Jack was drowned and when finally found,
He was lying there stiffened and blue,
And it's told far and wide that stretched out by his side,
Was his track mate the old cockatoo
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