Charlie’s me name, eleven years old this summer
I’m a horse shit clearer, that’s what I do
The crossing of Bourke and Elizabeth’s me beat
Darting between the fancy carriages and the ‘furious’ rider’s hooves
So the ladies in silk tents and gents in tall hats can keep clear -

Melbourne, the horse capital of the world
Five hundred thousand of horses and people each
Twenty thousand horses in these crowded city streets
A billion flies, and horse straw always flying through the air
No wonder veils are standard ladies’ wear -

You work it out. Every day
That’s 400 tons of manure
Eighty thousand gallons of urine, two hundred thousand of sweat
That’s a lot of shit mate.  Slippery streets
You can smell the Yarra three miles away
And in 1856 a horse drowned in a puddle right here

Mad horse!  You hear it yelled several times a week
Everyone dashes for doorways and stone
And there’s plenty of that - boom town buildings everywhere
And several hundred people killed by horses each year

Dog-carts, traps, gigs, jingles, sulkies, drays and hansoms,
Buggies, horse buses, broughams, phaetons, growlers, wagonettes
And in Bourke St, harness makers, haylofts, feed merchants
Blacksmiths, saddlers, coach repair and breaking rings

From their rooves you can see the jungle of sails
In Port Phillip Bay, that will take our breed all over the world
The whorehouses, the taverns, the constant creak of ships

I’ve no wish for foreign lands.  When I’m a man
I’ll escape the constant curses by becoming a farrier or groom
I guess in a hundred years there’ll be ten million horses here
But you who love them, remember who made this town.