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Mulligan's missus was big, fat and mean
A cruel and ugly man-killing machine
She's the type of woman you'd be looking for
If you wanted mercenaries for a guerilla war
And if he came home from the pub after six
She'd beat him senseless with her thrashing stick
But he was too scared to leave the old bag
He was much too soft and used to wave the white flag
Well, me and the blokes, from down at the pub
We'd had about enough of the way he'd been clubbed
So we banded together, a vigilante team
And we kept him at the pub until seven-fifteen
We pinned him in the corner though he screamed and kicked
"She'll bash me bloody senseless with her thrashing stick!"
"Just have another beer, Bill, she'll be alright.
All of us blokes are gunna' take you home tonight"
So we piled into Darcy's ute and hit the dirt track
Six clambered in the front and fourteen in the back
And Mulligan was cursin', and screaming he'd be killed
"Then she'll have to kill us all then" we reassured Bill
We pulled up at his house down on Jacaranda Drive
Parked the ute and piled out and headed on inside
We up the pathway to the door, which opened swift and quick
And his missus came out screaming, and swinging that thrashing stick
She looked like a raging mallee bull, ready for the kill
We formed a human barricade in front of poor old Bill
"If you wanna beat your husband up, then you'll have to get on past us!"
"If that's the way it is," she said, "Take this, you pack of bastards!"
And into us she swung that stick, like Bradman with a bat
Old Jacko copped a hiding first and screamed like a dying cat
She thrashed and flogged the lot of us, half had up and run
So I staggered back to Darcy's ute and grabbed his old shotgun
"Just put that bloody stick down now!", I shouted out to her
I'll pull this trigger flamin' quick, if'n you don't concur!"
She dropped the stick, I looked around, and saw I was alone
Everyone, 'cept Mulligan, had fled, through fear, back home
I went to pick that old stick up and break it right in half
But she moved not like a heifer, she moved more like a calf
And kicked me quickly in the guts and grabbed the old shotgun
then said "Get out, you mongrel dog!" and shot me in the bum
Well, you've never seen a man move such, with buckshot in his bum
I near on broke the speed of light, as up the road I run
And the last thing I saw looking back was Mulligan on the ground
Being caned near dead with that big old stick that she'd been wielding 'round
Well the story of that night became a legend in our town
How Mulligan's old missus, knocked twenty of us down
And she's got a thriving business now, wouldn't it make you sick!
She opened a shop and sold our wives a bloody thrashing stick!
So the pub is rather quiet now I think we're still in shock
We have an alarm hooked to the bar, that goes off at six-o'clock
And all us blokes and Mulligan, go screaming for the door
For fear of having to face up to that thrashing stick once more!
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Re: Mulligan's missus
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Re: Mulligan's missus
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