The Rouse About (1946)
I'm just a flamin' workin' horse, theslavey of the shed,
A-chasin' up an' down the board t'
earn me keep and bed.
It's 'Wool away l' an' 'Jump back'
quick !' an' I'm a woeful name ;
I grab me broom and do me best-
I'm yelled at just the same.
A target, me, for anyone with things
t' groan an' grouse about :
The driven, damned, demented dolt
they call the bloomin' rouseabout. There's wool along the shearin' board
an' wool in every bin ;
Yair, greasy, burry, stinkin' wool; an'
more keeps pourin' in
It flutters from me mo. and beard,
it's in me hair an' eyes-
If entered for a sheep show now I'd
win the shornies' prize
I'm breathin' it an' sneezin' it, I'm
tufted like a goat :
I reckon there's a bale of it gone
down me achin' throat You'd think these lordly shearers
owned the blessed countryside
The way they chuck their weight
around an' bellow in their pride :
It's "rousy, here !" or "Lift y'r feet !"
or "Clean this blanky board !"
I jump like I was jist a dog an' get
a dog's reward.
From dawn t' dusk I'm chivvied as a
cat would chase a mouse about,
A racin', roared- and' raved-at runt,
a downtrod blasted rouseabout. When sore an' limp, I seek me bunk
an' try t' get some sleep,
I turn an' toss with nasty dreams of
hordes o' silly sheep.
They nudge an' whisk the blankets
off an' nibble at me toes-
It's worse than what a boozer sees
who's got the Jims and Joes.
An' when another mornin' breaks an'
Cookie has his say,
I struggle from the haunted hut an'
face the dreadful day. The world is full o' cryin' coves who
think their spin is bad :
They're sick or broke or sorry or the
missus drives 'em mad ;
They're mournin' for the things they
lost an' railin' at their fate,
Or weepin' in their whiskers at the
woes they contemplate.
By cripes, they'd all have somethin'
real t' shake the ruddy house about
If they sweated, served an' suffered
as a flamin shearer's rouseabout. OLD TIMER (in "The-Bulletin") Notes From the NSW Newspaper The Scone Advocate 20 Sep 1946 p. 3.