CHORUS

The good ship Pasha Bulker, the waves they did engulf her

58,000 tonnes of coal still waiting for transport

And while we fill the sandbags, she's a cocktail in her hand, lads

She's lying on the beach because she missed the turn for port.

It’s the winter of 07, Kevin’s in and then the heavens

open up, it’s an east coast low, the likes we’ve never seen before,
The warning comes: a front is forming, keep a weather eye, the swell is high,
It’s time to close the port and send those ships away from shore.

CHORUS

But one captain missed the message, and bloody hell did he regret it 
When the mighty Pasha Bulker beached at 90 whole degrees,
But there ain’t much time to see her yet, cause Newy’s getting awfully wet
And the drains that spill stormwater fill with utes and SUVs.

CHORUS

Well Jesus what an awful mess, but oh god bless the SES
Rescuing the oldies in a dinghy down King Street,
While the lashing rain surrounds us and the sea she tries to drown us
See the sailors helicoptered from their ship, in full retreat.

CHORUS

It’s a god-almighty shower that cuts half the Hunter’s power 
And the spoiled steak alone could make the insurance adjustor cry,
Yes the schools are closed, pick up the kids, but careful getting home in this
Cause nine pour souls out on the roads already said their last goodbye.

CHORUS

So batten down the hatches, and pray that copper catches
The wild Broadmeadow stallion that’s escaping in the wind,
And it’s “how ya going, neighbour,” and “do you need a favour?”
We’re labouring through the flood and rain like penance for our sins.

CHORUS

Now if you’re a Sydney-sider, just believe how we’ve described her,
Bloody Clancy’s not the only one who’s of the overflow,
The clean up took for-fucking-ever, and now we check the weather, cuz
Every Novocastrian remembers the East Coast Low.

CHORUS x 2