If ole Pharaoh, King of Egyp’, '… ‘E’d’ ave give the A.I.F. a nars… When they done their little best t… An’ to shift ‘is ancient ’eap uv s… An’ I’m tippin’ they’d ‘ave pheny…

Here’s to every Aussie fellow, Who refused to show the yellow When depression’s clammy hand Cast its shadow o’er the land. Here’s to them who never altered

In every little country place, all… From ageing cradles of the race to… From the towns about the cities to… There dwells a man of all trades;… He’s dwelt there since the Lord k…

‘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…

A noble lesson this should teach, Dear children unto you. If other people’s goods you reach, Of rectitude ‘twill be a breach, Or parsons will your virtues preac…

I. WASHING DAY The little gipsy vi’lits, they wus… As she come walkin’ in the grass,… The sun shone on the sassafras, wh… —The 'ope an’ worry uv our lives w…

Let him who is minded to meet with… Pluck three hardy hairs from a rab… Blow one to the South, and one to… Then burn another and swallow the… And who shall explain ’tis the tal…

Singing morning has begun. Where the wooded ranges run To far summits, there the snow Lingers yet. But down below In the quiet, green-girt places,

Where the little river gleaming Thro’ its shadows green and cool Broadens to the quiet dreaming Of a little shady pool; There an azure jewel burning

The pale young man he comes to me, An’ chats me good an’ fair; ‘The langwidge that you use,’ ses… ‘Pollutes the good, clean air. Why don’t yeh chuck sich silly rot…

A spieler came to Yarra Glen upon… He wore a suit of noisy cheeks and… He was a wicked man, they say, Such as they grow down Melbourne… A spieler gay,

When Leonardo was a lad there was… Who snubbed him most outrageously… He wasn’t in the fashion, so he wa… Before his death he was too new, a… Because his art was new to them th…

There’s a big, brown man in the hi… Whom the nation had forgot; He’s a stolid man and a patient ma… And he does not talk a lot: And the seasons frown or the seaso…

My dear, I’m awful shorry ‘Bout gettin’ home sho late. I orra been in hoursh ago; But you know how I hate To biss a crit of micket

The ole train puffs in once a day On the ole Gunn’s Gully line; In a lazy, leisurely kind o’ way She comes in, wet or fine. Nobody wants her, nobody needs her…