There's a rustling round the canefields, that are Far North Queensland's heart,
And the pubs are filling up at Gordonvale.
There's a sense of quiet excitement; something big's about to start
That will send the pulses racing without fail.
You see Gordonvale's so tiny, just a speck upon the map;
One blink and you will miss it as you drive;
But for just one day in August, the whole place gets in a flap
As the town and all its people come alive.

No, it's not a Guinness record or a grand Olympic bid,
And it's not because the circus is in town;
It's the race to win the title, 'King of Walsh's Pyramid';
To the fastest and the fittest goes the crown.
It was fifty years ago they say, two farmers made a bet;
They were bored by watching cane grow, so it goes.
The first to reach the summit and come down again, would get
A case of beer to cure him of his woes.

Now the Pyramid's a landmark, one that all the locals know;
Its distinctive summit reaches for the sky;
And it towers above the township and the canefields far below;
Geometry nine hundred metres high.
There are some blokes think it's man-made; they claim Moses lies inside,
While legend says that turkeys made the mound;
Or it could be E.T.'s cousins made for UFO's a guide;
Are there prophets, eggs or spaceships, to be found?

On the third weekend of August there's excitement in the park;
There is music, there are games and there are stalls;
For the kids, a Jumping Castle, and the fun goes on till dark,
While contestants live again the thrills and falls.
Energetic and athletic folk, from near and far, it seems,
Are intent on gaining glory up the hill,
For there's fame for him who conquers the 'pinnacle of dreams';
The acid test of courage, strength and will.

The ascent's an uphill scramble, 'cross the rocks and through the scrub,
While your weary legs are screaming, 'This must stop!'
And you're thinking that you'd rather be at the flamin' pub,
But you struggle on until you reach the top.
There's no time to take a breather, or appreciate the sights,
If you think the worst is over, think again.
Going down's a free-form free-fall, full of trips and slips and frights,
And your battered body's shrieking with the pain.

'They are coming! They are coming!' and a thrill runs through the crowd.
The cheering and the shouting all combine.
Be it favourite or outsider, the applause is long and loud,
As the leader makes his surge towards the line.
Now at last the pain is over and the winner tastes his fame;
Will he celebrate with laughter or a tear?
To the list of worthy winners, let us add a champion's name;
The race is over for another year.