Who would not be a bushman, and live a life so free,
And live on half-stavred mutton, cooked by sleek Ah Mee,
To ride about all day-a life fit for the Gods,
And come home late at night to feast on damper sods.
Away, ye city duffers, what know ye of the joy
And heavenly bliss which fills the heart of that bold boy,
Who canters o'er the downs with rein held low and slack,
Upon a steed with ghastly sore red raw upon his back.
Away ye city scoffers, we do not want ye here :
Go back unto your pavements, go back unto your beer ;
That man is happier for who works the plough or scoop.
And drinks from out the creek the water like pea soup.
What matters it the heat ! when there's a Barcoo breeze;
What trouble is the sun ! there's lots of shady trees ;
Just lie down under one, beside your dog who pants,
And find true comfort here, reposing with the ants.
Go to, ye city scoffers, go back unto your shops,
You ne'er can realise the beauty of fried chops--
The beauties of a camp with ne'er a sign of feed--
The beauties of the scorpion the lively centipede.
And you, my noble nag, you've never yet been stalled,
What though your back be blistered, and belly rather galled.
You cannot speak your joys, nor use a great big D.,
Though I can swear at you, you cannot swear at me.
Then let us off together; I'll mount upon your back,
And soon the sheep we'll drive along the dusty track ;
A canter first, then walk-eight hours before we rest,
No matter what folk say, a bushman's life the best.
SNOOKS
Notes
From the Queensland Newspaper The Western Champion 4 Jul 1884 Page 2.
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