‘Twas Bumhole Bill from Mitcham way that caught the skiing craze,He threw away the walking boots that served him many days.A pair of long and waxy skis were there to take their place:Karhu the brand, a mighty brand, the choice of many an ace.
Towards the highest mountains, our hero then did stride,To try these new inventions, to see how they should glide.Up from Bradneys Gap he climbed, in search of fields of snow,But when he reached Grey Mare Hut the wind began to blow.
To Strumbo Hill he battled on through hail and snow and sleet,It took him twenty minutes to dig out both his feet.But with his mighty planks, he sailed on through the breeze,A mournful scream was heard quite loud, he shot down through the trees.
Was followed by a rousing crunch, he scoured through the snow,Leaving two long buttock marks, yet onwards did he go.The snow did lodge around his chest and trickled to his waist,A consequence of his skill, skis expertly placed.
Our Bumhole with his chin so rough, he is a forceful man,Where other people quail and shake, our Bumhole always can.He’s not afraid of rock or snow, or perchance something worse,He survived the Arawata, and his brain still hurts.
Down the steepest slopes he flies, pure untainted style,Even when he leaves the ground, he laughs and sings and smiles.And yet, one day, on Kerries Ridge, he had an awful blow,The gremlins caught one shining ski, he crashed into the snow.
Never before had human eye seen our Bumhole crash;And worse to come, he stayed out flat, the right knee was a mash,And worse and worse, he loosed the skis, they skidded down the hill,Alone with stocks and twisted knee, the downfall of our Bill.
But Bill stood on his good left leg, "While there’s life there’s hope,Strap my skis on both my feet, point me down the slope."But as he spoke the pain grew strong, his face went white as ash,From excess beer, or excess sex, or even nappy rash.
Kerry cursed, "The stupid twit, he’s killed himself, the fool,And failed, it’s bad, for burying is simpler as a rule."Bob pulled out his first aid kit, a lonely soggy Aspro,He checked the map, and then he said, "Stephen, you must go."
"You must ski along the ridge to Guthega, for aid,With the powerful SMA, we have got it made.For they have flares and boats and planes and things to rescue people,And if he’s dead when they arrive, they’ll put him near a steeple."
Bushwalk
