“They don’t write songs about guys like me, here, I got one you can have for free”
He was with his old Mum, he’d brought her up the pub to watch the Rabbits run around
She liked to see him swear at televisions
Sledging men on football fields and lashing out on counter meals
Reminds her of the old man, how Souths and life will set you up to fall
I was at home with Mum in ’88, Friday night I wish I’d had a date
The phone rings at nine, it’s Bert the Baby Blue-Eyed Killer on the line
He says, “meet us out the back in 10”
Mum says “put a jumper on although you won’t be gone for long
Not when it goes to plan, and Bert will have a plan he does alright”
With my balaclava curled up like a turban on my head, “Get in”, he said
“All we need is a fourth to be a cockatoo if you don’t come I’m beltin’ you
I’m Australia’s Greatest Robber, it’s an honour for ya son, now come along”
A stolen Sigma in the lane, Bert says, “get in the back and I’ll explain
It’s an easy grab, but there’s two hours ’til the coast is clear, we’ll get a slab
And then we’ll get an art collection
My man has left the key outside, we’ll cut the canvas with these knives
Be in and out in twenty, Pro Hart and Norman Lindsay and Ken Done
With my balaclava curled up like a kitten on my head, “Get in”, he said
Some men when they’re drinking, mistake their thoughts for thinking
Australia’s Greatest Robber with somehow 30 years inside, and he says
“Now we’re four blocks away boys, pull your headgear down”
I wish it had been me deciding, you’d be mad to put a bet behind him
Bert, the blue eyes hurt
Four sittin’ ducks in a stolen car, we all need the Brassco but we’ve come too far
And if we get done, I hope that I get Malabar, the old girl would come
Three buses, stay with Aunty Val
Norman Lindsay and Pro Hart, I’m about to give my youth to art
These blocks are really long, and there’s not much going on behind those eyes
With my balaclava rolled down really tight below my chin, they let me in
Some men when they’re drinking, mistake their thoughts for thinking
Here we are two blocks away, fully hooded, on our way and
Sure enough some cops are passing, scratch their chinny chins
They see eight wide eyes, with cans of Reschs
Call it in, and then they met us there, foot of the stair
Bert looks the judge right in the eye, says “it was unseasonably cold that night”
They read mine out, but I don’t hear the verdict, mum was crying out
At least I got the ocean view
Australia’s Greatest Robber got me 13 months of bother
Ah, it’s who you hang around boy, who says, “you come along now for a ride”
Written by T. Freedman / A Farrow-Pryke / C. Waterstreet (Sony Music Publishing / Control)
Backing vocals - Dustyesky
