Weekends off were never wasted,
Certainly not with Old Joe,
He’d head off early to the tip,
He knew exactly where to go.

The old Ute had a pleasant hum,
As it left unladen, from Lyons road,
And Old Joe whistled a broken tune,
For the treasures that he bode.

Trash and treasure in abundance,
A smorgasbord of junk,
Old Joe had a use for everything,
Even stuff that stunk.

Home he’d come overloaded,
The old Ute would be sprung,
And when he undid all the ropes,
Up she’d go a wrung.

Timber and steel for the aviaries,
And all that rusty old wire,
Never bothered good Old Joe,
It simply set his heart on fire.

To Old Joe the tip was heaven,
And he’d have gone there everyday,
If it wasn’t for the trappin’,
That was always takin’ im’ away.

He built fences, sheds and aviaries,
From a tip he scrounged so well,
And after they were painted,
Old Joe said they were swell.

He never wasted money,
And he collected bits of this and that,
But what Old Joe did with rubbish,
You’d have to raise to him ya’ hat.

Now Old Joe, there was no doubt,
Built Lyons Road a treat,
And most of it was done with rubbish,
From that tip just down the street.

And when he finally left that place,
Everything was neat and trim,
A credit to Old Joe’s persistence,
To fight the odds and win.