(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.       (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; Sounds of a plane approaching and then falling from 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...........