Stringybark Sam was a timber man
Tall and as straight as a tree,
His bright blade flashed, the giants crashed
On the slopes of the hill country,
Not one to boast, yet it must be said most
Of the local blokes held him in awe
No-one could match him, mates tried hard to catch him
But Sam always topped their best score.
Because of his fame a challenge came,
Accompanied by words rude and cruel,
Sadly Sam knew he and red-headed Blue
Were destined to fight out a duel,
A contest decided, folk arrived uninvited,
Amazing how word seemed to fly,
The winner to be first to fell their fourth tree,
Bookies took bets on the sly.
Feelings ran strong, this feud had been long,
Sam shaved hair from his arm with his axe,
Then softly swore - Blue waved a chain saw
And laughed 'til he rocked in his tracks,
Sam didn't speak, his expression grew bleak,
A sharp crack from the starter's gun,
And white chips flew, but the confident Blue
Already knew he had won.
He continued to sit, then played round a bit
Making fancy designs in the bark,
Studied Sam's stroke, smirked at his own joke,
And at last condescended to start,
An ear splitting roar - the forest floor
Was masked in a sawdust pile,
Three trees hit the earth, gasping with mirth,
Blue pointedly stopped for a while.
Sweat poured now on Sam's dark brow,
Hard hands slid slippery wet,
As each tree crashed his hopes were dashed,
Though he vowed he was not done yet,
Blue leaned on a stump and scoffed at the thump
Of Sam's trusty axe struggling on,
Deigning to say in a mock puzzled way,
"So where's our great tree feller gone?
A fair chap, that's me, I reckon that we
Can start level on tree number four,
And old Sam there, has the pick of the pair,
Now I ask - could I do any more?"
By now the crowd was getting quite loud,
Tempers wearing indignantly thin,
All seemed to feel Sam'd got a raw deal
It was hopeless, no way he could win.
Blue kept on jeering, lip curled up sneering,
Sam carefully circled each tree,
Gazed up and down from great trunk to crown,
Then thumbed at his choice silently,
The machine snarled and bit, each neat severed chip
Flew swiftly from Sam's steely bite,
Blue paused to gloat, scornful laugh in his throat,
One short sharp last burst, he'd be right.
An agonised scream, paralyzed the whole scene,
The chainsaw spun bucking to ground,
Blue tumbled too, shrieking anew
And flung himself frenzied around,
Sam's final tree fell, he mildly said "Well - -
Son, there's a feeling I had,
Thought I'd better avoid 'em - you've gone and annoyed 'em -
Bull-ants can pack a fair bite when they're mad!"