I'm a singer in a bushband and I love to entertain
But theres one situation would drive a bloke insane
Its Friday night down at the club, I've just begun my song
And what's that bloomi noise I hear over the intercom

It goes number 97 to the snackbar please carton of chips hamburger with cheese
Number 97 to the snackbar pleeeeease Noumber 97 to the snackbar please

I used to sing sweet love songs, winning the ladies' hearts
Till the night my brother hit the jackpot right in the romantic part
There were flashing lights and ringing bells coming through the door
and 500 bloody two bob bits rattling around the floor

I was singing a song the other night, had the audience in my hand
They were rolling round with laughter which made me feel quite grand
I'm coming to the punchline draw my breath and then
Daphne Duffy wanted on the telephone theres that noise again

Well I don't mean to brag a lot but I think I sing quite well
But there's one place I dont excel its the local RSL (Returned Services Club)
So I chucked it and geaded off to the local pub
Im just getting into the swing of things there's a noisy overdub

Well I've gone back to the club you know and now I am a star
Though Im not singing any more, I work behind the bar
And its ILUV69 you've left your headlights on
Fred Jones is on the telephone
You're wanted in the foyer Ron

Describes what actually happens to singers down under, Can't find the source though. I remember years ago at a festival they were calling out meal numbers and when they reached 97 we all sang the chorus. Went down like a lead balloon.