’Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum… On the edge of the Never-Never, Where the dead men lie and the bla… And the bushman lies for ever. ’Twas the custom still with the lo…

The night too quickly passes And we are growing old, So let us fill our glasses And toast the Days of Gold; When finds of wondrous treasure

The rooster is a brainless dude, a… The hen’s an awful fool we know, t… She’ll flutter, cackling, anywhere… And try to hatch a door-knob, too,… The turkey is of small account, we…

Dust, dust, dust and a dog— Oh! The sheep-dog won’t be last. When the long, long, shadow of the… With the shadow of his mate is cas… A brick-brown woman with the brick…

Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain, Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again. And well his stock-horse bears him…

The camp of high-class spielers, Who sneered in summer dress, And doo-dah dilettante, And scornful “venuses”— House agents, and storekeepers,

They took dead Cromwell from his… And stuck his head on high; The Merry Monarch and his men, They laughed as they passed by The common people cheered and jeer…

The gentlemen of Dickens Were mostly very poor, And innocent of grammar, And of parentage obscure; But rich or poor or thriving,

We learnt the creed at Hungerford… We learnt the creed at Bourke; We learnt it in the good times And learnt it out of work. We learnt it by the harbour-side

Once I wrote a little poem which… And I showed the printer’s copy t… First he praised the thing a littl… ‘The ideas are good,’ he muttered,… So I straighten’d up the rhythm w…

You may roam the wide seas over, f… Sail as far as ships can sail, and… You may ride and tramp wherever ra… But the crowd has been before you,… For the Early Days are over,

A tall, slight, English gentleman… With an eyeglass to his eye; He mostly says “Good-Bai” to you, When he means to say “Good-bye”; He shakes hands like a ladies’ man…

He works in the glen where the war… And the gums and the ashes are tal… ’Neath cliffs that re-echo the sou… When the wedges leap in from the m… He comes of a hardy old immigrant…

SING us a song in this cynical a… Sing us a song, my friend, While the Flesh and the Devil are… And Death seems the only end. Give it the clatter of hoof-clippe…