in a tiny inner-city pub, the amps were being stacked
leads were getting wound up, it was full of pissed anzacs
got no more gigs for tuesday nights, said the barman to the star
we're putting pokies in the lounge and strippers in the bar
the star, he raised his fingers and said, "fuck this fuckin hole"
but to his faithful roadie he says, it's the death of rock and roll

there ain't a single place that's left to play amplified guitar
every place is serving long blacks and become a become a tapist bar
his dirty denim jacket was gaffered and turning black
hair was missing on his forehead but it reached right down his back
i don't blame that barman bastard he told his roadie, "hey, fuck no"
i blame all those faggot wankers, who are playing this techno

brothers couldn't work it out, get fucked, they can kiss my rotten ass
work out what happened to real music, is what i'd like to ask
everything is all machine, run with middy and lay dash,
but all they do is go ping ping ping like a truck that's backing back
who the fuck are the chemical brothers, that they now call the shots
goldies the name of the light beer, elastica holds up socks
the roadies sat there silent next to the ejaculating star
what's the fucken point of drum and bass, if no one can play guitar?

CHORUS
aussie, (aussie guitar)
aussie, (aussie guitar)

have you seen those fucken clubbers, with their peroxided dreds?
dressed up in fucking adidas, like fucking fucked fuckheads
i wouldn't drop a tab of E, if you fuckin paid me man
i got the guts for LSD, and the only jungle i know is man
these roadies sat still silent, but then he finally began to speak
actually star, i maybe shoulda told you this last week
but i scored a job as DJ at the latest techno club
i'm sick of working with a loser, see ya later bob

well the roadie owned the PA and the roadie owned the ute,
the roadie told star to get out or he'd bash one up his shoot
and there on that cold freeway, star walked along alone
of course he got kicked out halfway between emergency telephones

CHORUS
aussie
aussie, (aussie guitar)
aussie, (aussie guitar)
aussie, (aussie guitar)
aussie, (aussie guitar)
aussie, (what a man, what a man, what a man)

"fuck ya's all", said star aloud in the emergency stopping lane
to quote from that chick juliet, hey what's in her name?
a good song's just a good song, just the same as long ago
but dressing up as something new and suddenly you're picasso
every white bald pommy cunt, thinks that you're so hip
read MNE from ten years ago and there's all the same dickslip
prodigy are just the band who are getting it just this year
rolling stones got no more cred. than fucken new idea

stars anguish voice rolls in grief as he cryed unto the moon
in the end when all is said and done, a tune's just a fucking tune
star played his amp far too loud, his hearing was sorta gone
so he never heard the grinding squeal as the truckie put the brakes on
26 road train wheels, played a tune upon his head
"he just wondered into the traffic", the distraught driver said
the cops had seen it all before, the ambels washed the freeway clean
there ain't no contest when you put a man against a machine

aussie
aussie (aussie guitar)
aussie (aussie guitar)
aussie (what a man, what a man, what a man)
aussie
aussie
aussie, (aussie guitar)
aussie,
aussie,
aussie, (it's a man against machine)