The Gun Shearer (1953)
By Des. Martin, in "Hoofs and Horns")
Some sings about their banjos,An' some of violins,
Of pi-an'-fiamin'-anners
That you can play as twins.
But the only sort of music
That makes me yell for more,
Is the rattle of the the handpiece
At which I've often swore. Bendin' at the elbows,
Swingin' from the hips,
Takin' all the short cuts,
Knowin' all the grips.
If you ask the contractor
Hell just smile an' say,
"Jet Motor Jack's on Number One,
An' showin' 'em the way." Some blokes likes the Tango,
An' some the Charleston.
Some skite about the fancy Dos,
An' the clobber they had on.
But I love to go a'waltzin'
With a ewe about the board;
While a flannel shirt an' dungarees
Is all I can afford. Shovln' down the brisket,
Whizzin' through the crutch,
Whippln' down the hind leg
Where there isn't very much.
Pullin' with the fingertips,
Pushtn' with the knees,
Spin 'em round an' go agen,
Showin' 'em the breeze. Some fellers lives on Horses Dooves,
An' some on Vinaigrette,
They'd almost make you sick with skite,
Of the fancy food they've et.
But I'll get stuck into some Irish Stew,
An' be finished me tea by seven;
For a quick feed and a long smoke,
Is a shearer's idea of heaven. Pullin' on the tommy cord,
Stralghtenin' out your knees;
Leanln' on the windersill
An' prayin' for a breeze;
Screwin' down the cutter
On a brand new comb,
Grab another blasted sheep,
An' drive the handpiece home. Some dream about the comin' spree,
Bustin' their cheques in town;
Musin' upon the girls they'll kiss
An' the policeman they'll knock down.
But I'll cut it out at the Blazin' Stump,
For breakfast, beer, an' bed;
With an honest Bung to plant my swag,
Till I make for another shed. Givin' at the waistline,
Shakin' down the thighs;
Reachln' for the belly blow
An' swearin' at the flies
Heapin' loads of curses
On the Rousie's head,
I'm Jet Motor Jack from Gunnedah,
The Ringer for the shed. Notes
From the NSW Newspaper the Braidwood Dispatch and Mining Journal 16 Jan 1953 p. 1.
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