When tales are told of days of old, 
We often think them funny;
Like the time that good old Dad said,
He might build a brand new dunny.

The old outhouse was falling down,
It's timbers were all dry;
And sometimes pinched when you sat down,
A real good reason why.

She had a lean to starboard 
from the moisture in the ground;
It was so very warped that
the moon in the door was round.

Now young David was a likely lad,
Who thought he'd lend a hand;
So lying in his bed that night,
He thought and schemed and planned.

Next morning while they were still asleep,
He sneaked down in bare feet;
To plant a stick of gelignite,
Beneath the old worn seat.

The fuse was lit and Dave bent down,
Behind a great big log;
When Dad came stumbling down the path, 
On his morning toilet jog.

As Dave rose up to warn his dad,
In tones loud and abrupt;
With a mighty earth shattering deafening roar,
He saw the dunny erupt.

When all the smoke and dust had cleared,
Dave could only stand and stare,
At the trouserless aparition, 
Singed and blackened, standing there.

"Oh Dad, are you OK?" he cried,
"Oh yeah, and thankful to know,
That I wasn't in the kitchen,
when I let that beauty go!"