Although to earn my bread
I walk among the dead,
I'm not a grave or a melancholy man ;
But as the pits I dig,
For little folks and big,
I sing as only many people can.
A billy holding ding beer
Is always Standing near
And, when my throat becomes a little dry
I do the proper thing,
That I may better sing--
Drink freely--if there's no one standing by.
I feel I'm growing old,
And underneath the mould,
'Tis probable my body soon will be ;
Of this I will not think,
But go and have a drink,
And wait for more unfortunates to die.
Notes
From the Victorian Newspaper The Kerang Times and Swan Hill Gazette 11 Nov 1887 p. 2.
Top