Reading The Age, there on a page, is a rebel without applause (1).
State politics' games, things won't be the same, and you know that's because
The man who's black by Christ he's back, if you're animal, vegetable, mineral.
He'll give you a bath, Ches Baragwanath, State Auditor General (2).
His audit is Brando (3), culture's Rambo (4), his calculator's full of malice.
If you've a dodgy practice, brother you're cactus, if your books don't fuckin' balance.
If you think I'm kidding, ask Jim Kennan (5) who retreated into his kennel.
When the got in the path of Ches Baragwanath, State Auditor General.
Republic's coming (6) and it needs a Pres.
Not Kennett (7) nor Keating (8), all power to Ches.
Beware lest he's after your testes, if you've got a current account deficit.
He'll lock you in a room, hand you a spoon, you'll eat peanuts out of his shit.
There ain't nothin' colder than a tap on the shoulder and a voice of authority says.
Name's Baragwanath, I'll cut you in half, my friends they call me Ches.
Republic's coming and it needs a President.
Not Kennett nor Keating, all power to Baragwanath.