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I got a phone call from a mate of mine I hadn't seen for years,
and I could tell by his quivered voice that he was close to tears
so I asked Ken what is wrong then heard his voice that shook , 
“Oh cripes! I think I've had it ‘cause I've never felt so crook”.

Course on the phone I couldn't tell if what Ken said was true,
‘cause he always was a bloke whose hypochondria showed through.
We could talk him into feeling crook and so he’d go home sick,
but he’d never understand that it was just a work place trick.

“What can I do?” I said to Ken, and he answered in a way
that I should take a few days off and make it a holiday,
to talk with him just one last time before it is too late
about the time we spent together, and being a good mate.

I couldn't help but say to Ken “Alright I’m coming mate”.
Even if I have to play the nurse to work him through his state,
but Ken did look a little like; he had gone to the pack
“By golly Ken” I said to him “I think you should see the quack!”

I rang the doctor’s surgery and gave me name upon the phone,
then mentioned who I’m ringing for and heard a little groan -
“What’s he got this flamin’ time? Tell him half past three”.
So Ken walked into the surgery and followed close by me.

The Doctor rolled his eyes at me and used his stethoscope,
“Well Ken” he said, “Once again I’m offering you hope.
Like I've told you many times there’s nothing I can find.
You only think you’re sick - the whole lots in your mind.”

So we went home to have a beer and talk about old days
when we chased a blackfish or a feed of Gippsland crays,
But the thought of eating sickened Ken and as for the beer,
well he never took a mouthful and that seemed flamin’ queer.

But lot’s of blokes give up the grog and change just what they eat.
Some turn vegetarian and won’t touch a piece of meat,
but when Kenny didn't touch his toast, in the morning then
I reckoned he’s still feeling crook, so I rang the ‘quack’ again.

The Doctor rolled his eyes at me and used his stethoscope
“Well Ken” he said, “Once again I’m offering you hope.
Like I told you yesterday there’s nothing I can find.
You only think you’re sick - the whole lots in your mind.”

So home we trudged to Kenny’s place to have another beer,
where Kenny said “That flamin’ quack, do you think he’s sincere?
Surely if I’m feeling crook then I must be bloody crook,
yet that flamin’ doctor tells me that I’m a bloody sook!”

We talked for hours through the night and then at three o’clock,
I picked up the phone again and rang that flamin’ Doc,
“Oh not at this hour! Does Ken still think he’s crook?” He said.
“No not at all” I softly spoke - “This time he thinks he’s dead!”
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