Chords for Mick the Master Farter

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ [A] _ _ [E] _ _ [B] _ _ [E] _
_ I first met him in the classroom [A] back in 1963.
[B] We seemed to get off pretty good.
[A] We were
mates [E] Mick and me.
He wasn't such a big kid [A] even back then at the start.
[B] And he wasn't
all that clever either, but Jesus [E] he could fart.
I first found that out in class one
day [A] when things were going pretty slow.
[B] And just to keep us all amused Mick [A] let this [E] fucking
ripper go.
_ Should have been there, look [A] I'd describe it if I could.
[B] But I just turned
around and I said, hey Mick you're [E] fucking good. _ _ _
_ And at the inter-school grand final
[A] on the rugby field that time, [B] we were getting beaten.
[A] They were 12 and we [E] were 9 and playing
was three yards from our goal line [A] when the referee called a scrum.
[B] And Mick said, don't
worry fellas, we've as good [E] as got it won.
So we just locked ourselves down in the [A] scrum
and we held each other's nose.
[B] And Mick our little hooker, he [A] let this fucking [E] ripper
go.
Stung their nose and it burnt their [A] eyes and it even scorched the grass.
[B] And I twigged
right then and there, he had a double [E] jointed arse.
[D#] _ _ [A]
Mick, me mate the master [E] farter, _ the
art back into farting with his custom [B] tailored farts.
[E]
Mick, me mate the master farter, [E] _ _
ground
him break and win [B] with his double [E] jointed arse. _
_ [A] _ _ [E] _ _ [B] _ _ [E] _
_ _ _ _ _ And it was just a couple of years later,
[A] we both went to see Kamal.
[B] It was a really poshy sort of show [A] in this great big [E] bloody
hall and all the blokes were dressed like penguins.
[A] And you should have seen the sorts.
[B] And Kamal himself wore a sheila's dress like a bloody black [E] boy George.
And we were all
locked in there like sardines [A] for the show to get underway.
But [B] the tuba player didn't
like the lob.
[A] He'd booked off [E] crook that day and Kamal said, without a tuba player,
[A] I cannot commence the show.
[B] So old Mick jumps up and says, Sambo mate, I'll have a [E] fucking
go.
_ _ _ _ _ Well from then on in, I honestly thought [A] that the whole show would be ruined.
But he
[B] just winked at me and picked that tuba up [A] just like he knew what he [E] was doing.
Then
the maestro tapped his little stick [A] to tell the band to start.
Mick [B] just shut his eyes
and cocked his leg and then back [E] into fart. _
Well you could have had a pin drop [A] that night
there in the hall.
[B] And it's hard to say who sounded best, [A] Mick Farton [E] or Kamal.
But then
the audience just went apeshit.
[A] They cheered and clapped and stood.
[B] And Kamal smiled as
if to say, hey Mick you're [E] fucking good.
_ _ [A] Mick, me mate the [E] master farter.
_ He art back into
farting with his custom [B] tailored farts.
[A] Mick, me mate the master [E] farter.
And his true pitch
perfect [B] calibrated double jointed arse.
_ _ [A] _ _ [F#] _
_ _ _ [E] _ _ _ _ _
_ _ Well good news travels fast it [A] seems and it wasn't
very long before [B] Mick got this midnight phone call from [A] Fen Lexon and [E] Alan Bond.
They said,
Mick, we got this specialist [A] job and we're prepared to pay ya.
[F#] Mick, old [B] son, would you
consider farting [E] for Australia?
_ We'll just prop you on our brand new [A] yacht when there's
no sea breeze blowing [F#] and get Mick the master farter to [A] start her and keep the [E] bastard going.
So Mick went into training [A] on sausage rolls and pies [B] and Fegemite and Foster's beer and
a scholarship [E] from Heinz. _ _ _
_ _ The world had never seen [A] before a yacht so finely groomed [B] or a
crew so fit and young and strong [A] or an arse so [E] finely tuned.
The Yanks weren't even in
the race, [A] not even in the same class.
[B] What with Fen Lexon and his secret keel and Mick's
fuel [E] injected arse.
_ Well he come back a bloody hero didn't he?
[A] The all Australian boy.
[B] And
the government commissioned this bloke to do [A] a big statue of [E] his coit.
And I can still
see Mick standing [A] there when they conferred his knighthood.
[B] And Bob Ork [F] pinning it on
saying, hey Mick, you're [E] fucking good. _
_ [A] Mick, me mate the [E] master farter. _
_ Classed back into
farting with his designer [B] label farts.
[A] Mick, me mate the [E] master farter. _
With his [F#m] true pitch
perfect calibrated turbo thrusted fuel injected winds [B] protected double [E] jointed arse. _
_ _ _ [F#] _ _ _ _ _
_ _ [F#m] _ _ _ [E] _ _ _