This is the mouth-filling song Of the race that was run by a Boomer, Run in a single burst - only event of its kind - Started by Big God Ngong from Warrigaborrigarooma, Old Man Kangaroo first: Yellow-Dog Dingo behind. Kangaroo bounded away, His back-legs working like pistons - Bounded from morning till dark, Twenty-five feet to a bound Yellow-Dog Dingo lay Like a yellow cloud in the distance - Much too busy to bark My! but they covered the ground! Nobody knows where they went, Or followed the track that they flew in, For that Continent Hadn't been given a name. They ran thirty degrees, From Torres Straits to the Leeuwin (Look at the Atlas, please), And they ran back as they came. S'posing you could trot From Adelaide to the Pacific, For an afternoon's run - Half what these gentlemen did - You would feel rather hot, But your legs would develop terrific - Yes, my importunate son, You'd be a Marvellous Kid!