Way up in the Flinders, where they store the toxic waste
there roams a fearsome canine- two headed and two-faced
as the greedy politicians who run from his mutant bark
The locals call him Bingo, The Dingo Who Glows In The Dark

That's not the wind that's howling, that's Bingo in the Ranges
sniffing out the senators storing scary stuff for strangers
Wherever you might find a place for nuclear waste to park
that's where you'll find Bingo, the Dingo Who Glows In The Dark

Two metres tall when on four legs, with long sharp teeth for gettin us
It's his delight that from his bite the least you'll have is Tetanus
You'll get to live a half-life, and save your vital spark
but you'll remember Bingo, the Dingo Who Glows In The Dark

The moral of this story is to dodge a situation
that has the scantest chance of causing wilderness mutation
We're letting political profiteers plunder as they please
Bingo's the least of our worries- have you seen the size of his fleas?