I got so down to it last night, With longin’ for what could not be… That nothin’ in the world seemed r… Or everything was wrong with me. My house was just a lonely hole,

Down by the slipralls stands our c… Chewing, chewing, chewing, She does not care what folks out t… In the great, big world are doing. She sees the small cloud-shadows p…

Sadly sobbing, sadly sobbing, Rolls the restless wireless sea, Where the wireless waves go bobbin… Up and down so dolefully. And nothing there the gloom assail…

The success of the Scout movement… Great and important people, these Important far beyond our ken Who mark with adult sophistries Their serious air of sober men,

Sing me to sleep when I go West; But sing you, soft and low, No song from the olden masters’ Or I shall not want to go: Not Schubert, wondrous harmonist,

A sight that gives me much distres… Is George without his trousers, Garbed, scantily, in bathing dress Proscribed by saintly Wowsers, And Gerty, gay and forward flirt,

Said old Pete, the Pensioner: ‘I met him down the road Where, twixt the shadders of the g… The silver moonlight flowed. His skin was white like shrivelled…

Now this is the ballad of Jeremy… And likewise of Bobadil Brown, Of the Snooks and the Snaggers an… And Diggle and Daggle and Down. In fact, ’tis a song of a fatuous…

Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet, Rules with an iron rod His house and home; ‘neath its red… He struts like a little tin god. When Popper says stay, the family…

Lord, Who, from Thy high position… See’th the humble politician, Knoweth all his secret schemes, Readeth all his inmost dreams, Hearken, Lord, unto our pleading;

Oh, we are the phantoms of rovers… See how the mocking mirages play! Men who have ventured and paid the… Lone, waiting women, ’tis vain to… We dies unshriven, as rovers die,

I’d like to be a barber, and learn… Calling out, ‘Next please! and po… All day I’d hear my scissors goin… I’d lather people’s faces, and the… While I shaved most carefully alo…

Flippity-flop! Flippity-flop! Here comes the butcher to bring us… Cantering, cantering down the wide… On his little bay mare with the fu… Cantering, cantering out to the fa…

There’s a breeze about the mountai… A song to mock the little men who… Or play at toil or pleasure where… But put my good axe in my hand and… And it’s: Hey, boy!

Yarrawonga by herself Lived too long upon a shelf She a stolid farmer’s wife. Far remote from modern strife Drowsily beside her door