Back in 1997, I resisted the temptation to post the lyrics, and posted a link to this song at the late, great International Lyrics Server. Today, in another thread, Justa Picker posted a link to the song at another site. Just so we don't lose track of this great piece of literature again, I think I'll post the lyrics here.
Forgive me.
-Joe Offer-

---

My Boomerang Won't Come Back
(Charlie Drake)

{Oom-yacka-wurka, oom-yacka-wurka, oom-yacka-wurka}

In the bad backlands of Australia
Many years ago,
The aborigine tribes were meeting,
Having a big pow-wow.

{Oom-yacka-wurka, oom-yacka-wurka}

"We got a lot of trouble, Chief,
On account of your son Mack."
"My boy Mack? Why, what's wrong with him?"
Drake: My boomerang won't come back.
"Your boomerang won't come back?"

Drake: My boomerang won't come back,
My boomerang won't come back,
I've waved the thing all over the place,
Practised till I was black in the face,
I'm a big disgrace to the Aborigine race,
My boomerang won't come back.

Drake: I can ride a kangaroo {yeah yeah}
Make kinkajou stew {yeah yeah}
But I'm a big disgrace to the Aborigine race,
My boomerang won't come back.

They banished him from the tribe then
And sent him on his way,
He had a backless boomerang
So here he could not stay.

{Outback animal noises.}

Drake: [Spoken] This is nice, innit? Getting banished at my time of life. What a way to spend an evening: sitting on a rock in the middle of the desert with me boomerang in me hand. I shall very likely get bushwhacked.

{An animal roars; Drake shrieks back.}

Drake: Get out of it! You nasty bushwhacking animal. Think I'll make a nice cup of tea. {Doing, doing, doing...} Good gracious! There goes a kangaroo. I must have a practice with me boomerang: hit him right behind the left earhole. Now then, slowly back.

[Gruff voice] If you throw that thing at me, I'll jump right on your head. {It chuckles and bounces away.}

Drake: Innit marvellous? Got a land full of kangaroos and I had to pick that one.

For three long months he sat there
Or maybe it was four,
Then an old old man in a kangaroo skin
Came a-knocking at his door.

"Well, I'm the local witch doctor, son,
They call me George Alfred Black.
Now tell me, what's your trouble, boy?"
Drake: My boomerang won't come back.
"Your boomerang won't come back?"

Drake: My boomerang won't come back,
My boomerang won't come back,
I've waved the thing all over the place,
Practised till I was black in the face,
I'm a big disgrace to the Aborigine race,
My boomerang won't come back.

"Don't worry, boy, I know the trick,
And to you I'm gonna show it.
If you want your boomerang to come back,
Well first you've got to... throw it."

Drake: Ooh, yes! Never thought of that. Daddy will be pleased. Must have a go, nyuh-huh! Excuse me. Now then, slowly back... and throw.

{Boomerang whizzes away; a plane approaches and suddenly falls out of the sky.}

Drake: Ooh my God! I've hit the flying doctor. Eee-hee-hee! Can you do first aid?
Witch Doctor: Don't talk to me about first aid, boy, you owe me fourteen chickens, you know, when I learned you to throw the boomerang, you know, first things first.
Drake: Yes, I know that, but I mean, I think on this occasion, you know, you could be a bit more perspective...