The Deficit Demon, a Political Ballad by Andrew Barton Paterson

It was the lunatic poet escaped from the local asylum, / Loudly he twanged on his banjo and sang with his voice like a saw-mill, / While as with fervour he sang there was borne o'er the shuddering wildwood, / Borne on the breath of the poet a flavour of rum and of onions.

He sang of the Deficit Demon that dwelt in the Treasury Mountains, / How it was small in its youth and a champion was sent to destroy it: / Dibbs he was called, and he boasted, "Soon will I wipe out the Monster," / But while he was boasting and bragging the monster grew larger and larger.