I am a humble pumpy driving down the street
On my way to a job where I will pump the ‘crete
I’m considered a nobody, the lowest in the chain
If anything goes wrong I will get the blame
I pull up, look at the site and hope it will soon be dawn
Extend the legs, deploy the boom, stifling a yawn
Again the batch plant’s broken, the first load is late
Giving me time to get things all ship-shape
The first agi finally turns up and thing’s are looking sweet
Until the tester comes along and inspects the ‘crete
“It’s good to go”, he says but he’s got tunnel vision
The ‘crete’s too dry; so I make a common sense decision
And it’s not just the pumping, there’s the WHS patrol
And the parking nazzi wanting to prove he’s in control
The council complaining of restricted airspace penetration
And the overhead power lines threatening bifurcation
Architects and draughtsmen, interior designers too
Of their creations there is always much ado
Their flash and fancy productions cause an ooh and ah
The industry of construction always setting a higher bar
Breakdowns, weather, plus loads, the normal delivery delays
Every pumpy knows to expect those kinds of days
So unless it’s raining heavy we’ll always come through
Cos’ I’m a noble pumpy proudly wearing the orange and blue
