The boys had gathered in the bar upon that fateful day.
By horse and foot and motor-car they all had made their way.
While listening to Manuka Jones, New Zealand's finest liar,
We heard a cry that chilled the bones: "The flamin' Pub's on fire!"
There'd been a drought for weeks and weeks: the wells and tanks were dry.
No water flowed along the creeks, we had no town-supply.
The blazing sun, without relent, turned all the green to brown -
Imagine our predicament, the day the Pub burned down.
Through smoke and flame we dragged the booze to safety out the door,
Then thought of what we stood to lose, and rushed back in for more!
"Stand by - the Fire Brigade is here!" (those men of high renown):
"Oh, fireman, fireman, save the beer and let the Pub burn down!"
They stoved the tops of barrels in while strong men knelt to pray,
Shoved their flippin' hoses in and shouted "Pumps away!"
They fought with beer and lemonade, that raging fire to drown:
We fought and cursed the Fire Brigade, the day the Pub burned down.
Now moreporks haunt the old pub-site 'round Wapakiwi town,
And 'shikkers' roam the hills at night to hunt the firemen down.
They curse the cash they cannot spend, their raging thirst to drown:
Dry horrors drove them 'round the bend, the day the Pub burned down.
Home 
