There were movements at the stations as the emails passed around

Rudd's bolt of Old Regret had got away

Rumours ran like independants, Murdoch made a thousand Pounds,

and Julia Gillard's cracks began to fray

A Hawker of the Faceless Men came down to lend a hand

on the media cycle he so loved to ride

cracking Whips and Albanese as he Galluped through the pack

It was grand, the way that old spin-doctor lied.

But the hardy little Brisbane bloke could hardly raise a vote

and it looked like he would fail in his attack,

and he strained there, single-handed, till his sides were white with foam

as he begged the squatters (please) to bring him back

And those squatters, who had gathered from their homesteads near and far

stood and shook their heads at Kev in disbelief

When possession still is thought of as nine-tenths of modern law

You'll find it hard to buck off a good thief

Big Red, she knew quite plenty when it came to bucking off

She'd unsaddled Kev not very long before

and now the man so Snowy can only limp away

and stagger to the Outback, stiff and sore. 

But late at night, round campfires up around the ACT

where the Faceless Men found Kevin's manners snide

there are those who quietly whisper of the Snowy Man with glee

and the journos tell the story of his ride.