The Last Bushman

What do I do? wrestle crocs and box roos Munch on Witchetty grubs like junk food My whole crew, roll a scoob outta paper bark And hunt a tasmanian devil in the neighbor's yard We train hard in the swamps and mangroves Step on a mudcrab, lose ya damn toes We stand close to a spear with Quartz blade Where we live, razorback pigs might formate All day the spinifex cuts and sunburns Bloodthirsty insects feed on young birds Dinosaurs deathroll on drunken tourists Dingoes sweep the camps for unsecured kids Secluded..from the lost city d'of Melbourne's gutters Movin like mountain runners or Malcolm Douglas Out for justice on the mic roamin the land My books are the footprints shown in the sand Yeah,The last bushman, all the kids love me I make Mick Dundee look like a big yuppie Rex can't touch me , Alby Mangels' the man The leylands need to get a life and ditch the caravan I eat vermin for lunch with Steve Irwin Weed burnin' my lungs n' feet hurtin' the reef surfin' tree surgin' I keep learnin, and researchin the realms of a dream serpent Dreamtime, nomad, wanderer with a stone ax Rappin through, Kakadu, pickin up coke cans Crow dance in a smoke trance when the bitch hums Spit to the beat, took a while wid skin drums Big guns and sick cars are taboos So I cruise downriver in a twin hull canoe Whistle at the ladies, gatherin white clay Wave to the elders, damn it's a nice day I might go paint the caves in red ochre Illustrate mythical ways to get over Leg motor trekked the Nullarbor with bloody hands Feast on a diet of fresh yams and honey ants Running man's stamina, outback, fightclub You can see the beauty of spirit in my right arm Diehard lyricist, the land's my identity Carved by, solar winds from the heavenly