In the country town where I grew up, 
The biggest annual event,
Was the local Agricultural Show,
And everybody went.

The cockies came from all around,
To see just what was there,
Their wives went to the great big hall, 
To see the local fare.

There were pies and cakes and pastries,
Breads and jams and honey, 
At the end of the day they would sell it all,
Which we thought rather funny. 

There were all the usual ring events,
The local stock to show,
They even had some trotting races,
Local horses, you know.

The hurdles were all falling down,
They were made of wood and tin,
But the water jump was empty in case 
someone did fall in. 

Most of the blokes seemed to hang around
The tent where the beer was at,
To brag, and laugh, and swear and yarn,
And generally ‘chew the fat’.

The little kids seemed to gravitate,
To the Merry-go-round and the swings, 
And the fairy floss and ice cream stands,
That had other yummy things.

The teenage lads would mooch around,
With their hands buried in their pockets,
While the teenage girls would flirt with them, 
And fiddle with their shiny lockets.

The young blades seemed to gather round
The travelling boxing show,
To wonder if they were quite good enough, 
To jump in and ‘have a go’.

All day long, the speakers blared,
Peace and quiet was folly,
Everything seemed to stumble along,
The atmosphere was jolly.

But at the end of a tiring day, 
When it was time for us to go,
The consensus of opinion was, 
She was a ‘bloody ripper’ of a show.