The ghost fox floats without a sound
High above snapping hound
From Burnie to Hobart Town
Its foot never to touch the ground

Its mating call is not heard
But the thought of shagging ghosts is quite absurd!
Although cryptozoologists say they communicate in ultrasonics
Most of what they say is utter bollocks

Everyone knows that shooting at a ghost is a total joke
That’s why Tassie hunters haven’t got a hope
Bullets pass straight through their silver form
No fox ghost can have a new asshole torn!

Ghostly foxes need no den
And pass right through a chicken pen
They never ever never take a bait
Or leave evidence you can validate

Cynics say they don’t exist
Seen only by the raving mad or totally pissed
But there at least as common as Thylacine
Just ask any member of the Task Force team

That’s why the Tasmanian Parliament moved to decree
That ghostly foxes, only the anointed shall see
Especially under Moon.. light
And by people blessed with government oversight

Still today, on cold Tassie track
Pay-rolled dogs sniff for ghostly crap
Next year they’ll hunt the Easter Bunny
When they run low on federal money

‘tis a good job hauntings don’t have a use by date
And public funds still buy the Foxoff bait
Because each one costs a dollar twenty
So If you’re in then know, well, you’re making plenty