Smith is a loyalist good and true, And a lad of the 'whole hog’ class… And yesterday, when he went to vie… The Royal procession pass, He’d flags in his buttonhole, flag…

Three hills lead on to Lilydale, Where runs the White Horse Road. Three slopes dip down into the val… The placid vale of Lilydale, That somnolent abode

‘If I’d 'a’ played me Jack on tha… Sez Peter Begg, ‘I might ’a’ mad… ‘Ow could yeh?’ barks ole Poole.… I ’ad me Queen be’ind?' Sez Begg… I slung away me King to take that…

Ole Mother Moon ‘oo yanks ’er bea… Acrost the sky when we’ve grown si… She’s like some fat ole Jane 'oo… On all concerned, an’ smooth our f… An’, like a woman, tries to 'ide a…

Now, children, in this Lesson Two… Briefly we’ll make some mention Of party, just in case that you Some day, with the intention Of furthering ambitions grand,

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…

How many have you broken up till n… I know that yesterday you made a v… And most solemnly ’twas spoken; But how many have you broken? Oh, you kept 'em for an hour or tw…

Blimey! Ain’t it gittin’ tough? Life gits 'arder day by day. First a bloke ain’t got enough Words for wot 'e wants to say; Then some nark; with nix to do,

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.

These be the fruits, O man who wo… The proudest Caesar of Rome’s pro… When legion after legion marched t… That one man might be clothed in b… Torn bodies, bloody fields and the…

Anzac! And war’s grim storm . . . The scream of a pass’ng shell Torn earth, and - a quiet form . .… ‘Pass, comrades. All is well.’ Nay, but his spirit lives; be very…

Dolefully and drearily Come I with the spring; Wearily and cerily My threnody I sing. Hear my drear, discordant note

Oh, foolish flapper, keen to be Considered cute and up-to-date, Sit down a while and hark to me, And I shall truly read your fate Not in a tea-cup, sweetling mine;

The cattle-lands of Corryong, The maiden of the snows (Where silver streams the winter l… Sing pleasantly their tinkling son… Not many a town man knows.

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…