The Old Bush Songs Part 18

When you are leaving camp, you must ask some brother tramp If there are any jobs to be had, Or what sort of a shop that station is to stop For a member of the Wallaby Brigade.

Chorus: Tramp, tramp, tramp, &c.

You ask me if they want men, you ask for rations then, If they don't stump up a warning should be made; To teach them better sense-why, "Set fire to their fence"

Is the war cry of the Wallaby Brigade.

Chorus: Tramp, tramp, tramp, &c.

The squatters thought us done when they fenced in all their run, But a prettier mistake they never made; You've only to sport your dover and knock a monkey over- There's cheap mutton for the Wallaby Brigade.

Chorus: Tramp, tramp, tramp, &c.

Now when the shearing's in our harvest will begin, Our swags for a spell down will be laid; But when our cheques are drank we will join the Tag-rag rank, Limeburners in the Wallaby Brigade.

Chorus: Tramp, tramp, tramp, &c.

To knock a monkey over is to kill a sheep, monkey being slang for sheep in many parts of the bush.

MY RELIGION

Let Romanists all at the Confessional kneel, Let the Jew with disgust turn from it, Let the mighty Crown Prelate in Church pander zeal, Let the Mussulman wors.h.i.+p Mahomet.

From all these I differ-truly wise is my plan, With my doctrine, perhaps, you'll agree, To be upright and downright and act like a man, That's the religion for me.

I will go to no Church and to no house of Prayer To see a white s.h.i.+rt on a preacher.

And in no Courthouse on a book will I swear To injure a poor fellow-creature.

For parsons and preachers are all a mere joke, Their hands must be greased by a fee; But with the poor toiler to share your last "toke"*

That's the religion for me.

[Footnote: "Toke" is a slang word for bread.]

Let Psalm-singing Churchmen and Lutheran sing, They can't deceive G.o.d with their blarney; They might just as well dance the Highland Fling, Or sing the fair fame of Kate Kearney.

But let man unto man like brethren act, My doctrine this suits to a T, The heart that can feel for the woes of another, Oh, that's the religion for me.

BOURKE'S DREAM

Lonely and sadly one night in November I laid down my weary head in search of repose On my wallet of straw, which I long shall remember, Tired and weary I fell into a doze.

Tired from working hard Down in the labour yard, Night brought relief to my sad, aching brain.

Locked in my prison cell, Surely an earthly h.e.l.l, I fell asleep and began for to dream.

I dreamt that I stood on the green fields of Erin, In joyous meditation that victory was won.

Surrounded by comrades, no enemy fearing.

"Stand," was the cry, "every man to his gun."

On came the Saxons then, Fighting our Fenian men, Soon they'll reel back from our piked volunteers.

Loud was the fight and shrill, Wexford and Vinegar Hill, Three cheers for Father Murphy and the bold cavaliers.

I dreamt that I saw our gallant commander Seated on his charger in gorgeous array.

He wore green trimmed with gold and a bright s.h.i.+ning sabre On which sunbeams of Liberty shone brightly that day.

"On," was the battle cry, "Conquer this day or die, Sons of Hibernia, fight for Liberty!

Show neither fear nor dread, Strike at the foeman's head, Cut down horse, foot, and artillery!"

I dreamt that the night was quickly advancing, I saw the dead and dying on the green crimson plain.

Comrades I once knew well in death's sleep reposing, Friends that I once loved but shall ne'er see again.

The green flag was waving high, Under the bright blue sky, And each man was singing most gloriously.

"Come from your prison, Bourke, We Irishmen have done our work, G.o.d has been with us, and old Ireland is free."

I dreamt I was homeward, back over the mountain track, With joy my mother fainted and gave a loud scream.

With the shock I awoke, just as the day had broke, And found myself an exile, and 'twas all but a dream.

BILLY BARLOW IN AUSTRALIA

When I was at home I was down on my luck, And I earned a poor living by drawing a truck; But old aunt died, and left me a thousand-"Oh, oh, I'll start on my travels," said Billy Barlow.

Oh dear, lackaday, oh, So off to Australia came Billy Barlow.

When to Sydney I got, there a merchant I met, Who said he would teach me a fortune to get; He'd cattle and sheep past the colony's bounds, Which he sold with the station for my thousand pounds.

Oh dear, lackaday, oh, He gammon'd the cash out of Billy Barlow.

When the bargain was struck, and the money was paid, He said, "My dear fellow, your fortune is made; I can furnish supplies for the station, you know, And your bill is sufficient, good Mr. Barlow."

Oh dear, lackaday, oh, A gentleman settler was Billy Barlow.

So I got my supplies, and I gave him my bill, And for New England started, my pockets to fill; But by bushrangers met, with my traps they made free, Took my horse and left Billy bailed to a tree.

Oh dear, lackaday, oh, "I shall die of starvation," thought Billy Barlow.

At last I got loose, and I walked on my way; A constable came up, and to me did say, "Are you free?" Says I, "Yes, to be sure; don't you know?"

And I handed my card, "Mr. William Barlow."

Oh dear, lackaday, oh, He said, "That's all gammon," to Billy Barlow.

Then he put on the handcuffs, and brought me away Right back down to Maitland, before Mr. Day.

When I said I was free, why the J.P. replied, "I must send you down to be i-dentified."

Oh dear, lackaday, oh, So to Sydney once more went poor Billy Barlow.

They at last let me go, and I then did repair For my station once more, and at length I got there; But a few days before, the blacks, you must know, Had spear'd all the cattle of Billy Barlow.

Oh dear, lackaday, oh, "It's a beautiful country," said Billy Barlow.

And for nine months before no rain there had been, So the devil a blade of gra.s.s could be seen; And one-third of my wethers the scab they had got, And the other two-thirds had just died of the rot.

Oh dear, lackaday, oh, "I shall soon be a settler," said Billy Barlow.