| Once upon a time in a remote Tasmanian trailer park
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| There was born a baby boy by the name of Nedson Willbry
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| One day when Nedson was a baby, his crackhead teen mum
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| Got real distracted watching Teen Mum on the telly and dropped Ned right on his
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| noggin
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| Leaving a bump on top of his head
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| The little bean stopped squirming
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| And his mum thought he was surely done for
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| So mummy brought the tiny bundle to the forest during a terrible storm
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| And left him for dead in a field of pumpkins and wolves
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| But just then lighting struck
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| And a cry cut through the night light like a siren on a fire truck
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| Ned survived by the slightest luck, he wasn’t a dead baby, Neddy was alive as
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| fuck!
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| It was a miracle we’re hearing
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| The creatures of the evening came creeping to the clearing
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| To see this little man nugget
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| Soon to be immortalized in poetry just like the man from Nantucket
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| But as the little babe was grown
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| They gave to him their home
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| And raised him as their own
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| He roamed and trapezed from the tallest trees (whee!)
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| He got his steez from the wallabies
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| They all loved him
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| But the Tasmanian Devils loved little Neddy more than all of ‘em
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| They taught him how to spin like a fan
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| 'Til Ned spun himself into a fine young man
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| But one day like a sick disease
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| Loggers crept in and chopped the eucalyptus trees
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| They smushed the cuddly forest creatures
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| And turned ‘em into body wash and sneakers
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| But Ned escaped and yelled angrily
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| That «You abandoned me!
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| You killed my family!
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| But God dammit, I can’t use your pity»
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| And he snuck onto a ship bound for New York City
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| Ned’s voyage led him to the deepest, darkest, dankest bowels of that ship
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| He met all kinds of seedy characters on that voyage, like old Japanese men and
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| their wives
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| He had meals of fresh cut sashimi, pumpkin pie
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| And all kinds of delicious breads and cookies and cakes
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| When he was on that voyage he knew what lied ahead
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| So he kept his sights set on New York City
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| And before he knew it, he arrived
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| Ned almost drowned
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| He kissed the ground
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| But his guts were churned up in this town
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| Where down was up and up was down
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| So the boy from Down Under flipped right around
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| Ned did a cartwheel and stopped halfway
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| And he walked on his palms from that day
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| But cityfolk treated Ned like a freak
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| «That handwalking lumpheaded Yeti can’t speak»
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| One night walking home Ned was quite shocked
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| He saw a B-boy spinning on the sidewalk
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| He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop
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| Staring at those limbs, spinning like a wooden top
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| Sweeter than puddin' pop, Ned was home at last
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| And every night he’d watch ‘em dance through the glass
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| Of the club, and he’d wait there in line for his chance
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| But the bouncer said, freak, you can’t dance!
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| Oh but Ned, sweet little Ned, he wouldn’t get out of line
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| And the bouncer pushed him, and pushed him
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| But to catch his balance, Ned, hardheaded, upside down Ned did what Ned did best
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| He just spun. |
| And he spun. |
| And he spun. |
| And he spun!
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| (Go Ned, go Ned, go, go, go Ned!)
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| Everyone in the club came out to watch what is now regarded
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| As the greatest fucking head spin of all time
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| Legend has it that Ned’s still out there on Bleecker Street
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| Spinning on the curb to this very day |