The Moonie
Moonie
It was in the seventies I was out at St George,
Playing pool with the locals,
and the blacksmith from his forge,
I was winning, had a winning streak,
But I was getting a bit drunker,
So it was time to drive 300 miles,
in me Holden, the old clunker,
I was on a 200 mile stretch,
Black forest all around,
Drunk as 40 cats,
Glassy eyed,
half alkie sorta drowned,
I came up the darkened valley,
Not a bat or ne’er a sound,
Hair jumped up upon me neck,
great golden ball, sat on the ground,
Big as a house the golden ball,
I sobered oh so quick,
Just the bloody full moon that’s all,
No sign of mean ole Nick,
Cos, it was the highway Moonie
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