On the road to Jericho Mark the stricken one, Moaning in his agony, Prone beneath the sun. Prone beneath the blazing sun,

The dignity of Camperdown Is not to be denied, Where Leura looks upon the town And that lush countryside And comfortable, stout and sleek,

Now Joi, the rebel, he had a son In far, far Gosh where the tall t… Said Joi: ‘In Gosh there shall y… To scorn this life of a self-made… To spurn the law of the Knight, S…

‘Why stone the crows!’ ‘e sez. ’… But alwiz, some’ow, women ‘ave app… Set fer to ’old me orf a 'arf a mi… I dunno wot’s agin me: p’raps me b… But, some’ow, when I speak 'em so…

Where the sunlight, burning down, Lights her luscious orange groves, Lights the river and the town; Where the placid Murray roves; Where each shining summer gives

Once a little sugar ant made up hi… To fare away far away, far away fr… He had eaten all his breakfast, an… To see what he should chance to se… Up and down a fern frond, round an…

I’m a fussy little fellow In my kilt of glowing yellow; As about the garden ways I bow an… Many a melody I bring you, In the soft, gay songs I sing you

Oh, he was old and he was spare; His bushy whiskers and his hair Were all fussed up and very grey He said he’d come a long, long way And had a long, long way to go.

Ladies and gentlemen: I take this… To introduce myself and mention th… essentially an agricultural commun… Altho’ in our metropolitan centres… Most of us, directly or indirectly…

Not in our public parks, for priva… This centuries-old precursor of al… That lured babes in old Italy and… To plague for pence their medieval… Not for the modern child: this cru…

‘The backbone of the country and t… That was how they styled us when t… But what’s his valuation now, when… Chorus: Two bob a dozen, an’ the garments…

Now, Ma-til-der! Ain’t cher dres… Last as ushul. Move yerself, you… Are you goin’ to lie there lazin’, W’ile I—Nell, put down that basin… Go an’ see if Bill has got the po…

Let’s have a tiny little bush fire… It’s a cold, cold night tonight. We are sick of this long session Of the darkness of depression. And a fire would make things brigh…

I’d like to be a postman, and walk… Calling out, ‘Good Morning, Sir,… Ringing every door-bell all along… In my cap and uniform so very nice… Perhaps I’d have a parasol in cas…

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,