Now Nigel was a city boy
From Fitzroy toe to hair.
The pavement was his garden,
The diesel fumes his air,
His valleys were the city streets,
His mountain the overpass.
They say poor Nige burst into tears
The first time he saw grass.
But tadpoles grow up to be frogs
And boys, they grow to men
And one day Nige heard the call
Of a far-off farmland glen.
He was staring at a glossy
In a real-estate man's shop
'That's it,' thought Nige, 'I'll buy a farm,
Raise sheep and plant a crop.'
He threw in his Melbourne job,
Sold up his Fitzroy digs
Bought a header and a tractor,
Bought some cows and bought some pigs.
Then, Nigel drove up to his farm
And breathed the rich aroma.
He filled his lungs with the breeze
And fell into a coma
Now, Nigel was a city boy
From Fitzroy toe to hair
He woke up in a hospital
Poisoned by fresh, country air.
Garth Madsen