#Australians
We know those little country pubs, By cross-road and by creek, Where faithfully the landlord scru… His counter once a week, And stands before his shining bar
Light of my lives! Is the time no… Lo, I’ve brooded on a star Through many a year, with the hope… That, in some future far, I would know the joy of a love ret…
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…
I must go down to the shops again,… And all I have is a long list of… And a few bob in the old kick and… For he’ll trust me, so the boss sa… I must go down to the shops again,…
Old Pete Parraday, he isn’t very… Or so the local gossips say - The… His crazy views and values, and th… ‘Better had he saved his money,’ s… ‘And not become a pensioner with a…
Winter has come; and tardily Now little nipping winds are rife Where laggard leaves, on many a tr… Still cling tenaciously to life. Spent Autumn with a myriad hues
‘E ’ad spragged me before for the… But I told ‘im straight out I was… Still ’e would ‘ang around me, wot… ’E’s a regiler obstinit bloke. ‘E’d tapped me for dollars an’ bit…
He came into the bird-shop where… A hulking giant, monumental, grim, A paragon of muscular manhood. ‘What is sold here,’ I thought, ‘… His heavy brow, his grat, prognath…
I’m only just a common racing dog, Simple in habit, and my diet’s pla… I have never had a longing for the… That some men seem to need, more v… And I have heard it said of such…
The diggers came from Bendigo, From Albury the drovers, From where the Goulburn waters fl… Came bearded teamsters travelling… And all the brown bush rovers;
The unsoiled hand, the sleek, blac… The senile, ledger-haunted hours, The knowledge that my freeman’s vo… Is humbly cast to please ‘the powe… A futile spite against the mass,
Wot price ole Ginger Mick? 'E’s… Gone to the flamin’ war to stoush… Wus it fer glory, or a woman’s sak… Ar, arst me somethin’ easy! I dun… ‘Is Kharki clobber set ’im off a…
I’d like to be a baker, and come w… Calling out, ‘Beeay-ko!’ (that’s… Riding in a rattle-cart that jogs… Selling all the sweetest things a… Currant-buns and brandy-snaps, pas…
When artists wore a flowing mane, Then, in a sentimental vein, With pastorals they lured the eye, Or sad, sweet scenes of sea and sk… But now that hair sprouts from the…
At the meeting of the waters Where the dark tree shadows play Wangaratta’s sons and daughters Dream the drowsy hours away; Placid see the season’s greeting