bwe lost in the bush

Roll to BWE, boots laced tight,

FIFO livin’, workin’ day and night.

Soren’s on the drill, got the rods all stacked,

Where’s old mate gone? Yeah, he’s slipped out the back.

Shotfirer’s ready, blast plan’s locked,

Everyone’s on time while the clock just ticks.

Radio crackles, “Has anyone seen him?”

Probably hiding where the crib room’s been.

He’s taking the piss while we’re earning the pay,

Ghosting on the job every single day.

Drills keep turning, blasts go boom,

Old mate disappears like he left the room.

FIFO grind, yeah, everyone’s grafting,

Meanwhile he’s an expert at strategic slacking.

Blast holes marked, powder’s going in,

Shotfirer’s smiling with a cheeky grin.

Soren’s still drilling, making metres all day,

While old mate’s mastered the disappearing play.

High-vis on but the effort’s low,

Claims he’s “checking something”… nobody knows.

When the whistle blows he’s first in line,

Funny how he’s always there at knock-off time.

So here’s to the crew that pull their weight,

Through dust and heat from dawn till late.

If you’re gonna hide, mate, here’s the news—

The blast crew always know who’s pulling through.