(Or the Song of the "Little Australians.")
There is a land where thundering lies
Are told about the azure skies,
And nothing's said of ants and flies
That bite and sting and bung your eyes ;
We're sick of listening to such cries
Australia !
Where snakes and other vermin crawl,
The rabbits (Bust them) worst of all
Defraud us of our corn and oil,
The scant reward of ardent toil
Expended on that arid soil,
Australia !
Where blows the hot wind's withering gust,
And clouds of smothering, blinding dust
Fill up alike unjust and just;
The land of loans and tick and trust,
Where booms are made and booms are bust,
Australia !
Where golden veins in every bill
Are hid so well they're hidden still,
Like gems that deck the rippling rill
Until they're found they deck it still,
And when they're found they're mostly nil,
Australia !
Where fields of shrivelling yellow grain
Stand perishing for want of rain
And water's hawked about by train
To starving stock on hill and plain--
Here get your wind and howl again,
Australia !
Where rates and taxes so increase
We feel inclined to call "Police !"
For guardians of our purse and peace
To tale in charge the coves that fleece
The land we hold by fraud, or lease.
Australia !
Where we are ruled by Toms and Dicks,
And nothing pays but politics
And other such like knavish tricks ;
What one can't sneak another snicks ;
'Tis time for us to cut our sticks,
Australia !
From where the truth is seldom,
Except by chance or in a joke.
By some poor rude unthinking bloke,
Who finds the truth too hard a cloak
As does thy present poor Mopoke,
Australia !!!
MOPOKE.
Notes
From the South Australian Newspaper The Millicent Times 2 Jul 1898 p. 5.
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