The Old Bush Songs Part 13

A club there is established here, whose name they say is Legion From Melbourne to the Billabong, they're known in every region.

They do not like the c.o.c.katoos, but mostly stick to stations, Where they keep themselves from starving by cadging shepherds' rations.

The rules and regulations, they're not difficult of learning, They are to live upon the cash which others have been earning.

To never let a chance go by of being in a shout, sir, And if they see a slant to turn your pockets inside out, sir.

They'll cadge your baccy, knife, and pipe, and tell a tale of sorrow Of how they cannot get a job, but mean to start to-morrow.

But that to-morrow never comes, until they see quite plainly That it's completely up the spout with Messrs. Scrase and Ainley.

If, feeling thirsty, you should go to take a little suction, I'll swear they'll not be long before they'll force an introduction.

One knew you here, one knew you there, all love you like a brother, And if one plan will not succeed, they'll quickly try another.

I knew one poor, unhappy wight, having a little ready, Entered a Smeaton public-house, determined to keep steady.

A celebrated loafer there determined upon showing him That he once had the pleasure and the privilege of knowing him.

Through hills and dales, by lakes and streams, he close pursued his victim, Until the miserable man confessed that be quite licked him.

In vain the quarry tried to turn, pursuit was far too strong, sir, The loafer followed up the scent and earthed him in Geelong, sir.

The n.o.ble art of lambing down they know in all its beauty, And if they do not squeeze you dry, they'll think they've failed in duty.

But, truth to say, they seldom fail to do that duty neatly, And very few escape their hands who're not cleared out completely.

THE OLD KEG OF RUM

My name is old Jack Palmer, I'm a man of olden days, And so I wish to sing a song To you of olden praise.

To tell of merry friends of old When we were gay and young; How we sat and sang together Round the Old Keg of Rum.

Chorus

Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!

How we sat and sang together Round the Old Keg of Rum.

There was I and Jack the plough-boy, Jem Moore and old Tom Hines, And poor old Tom the fiddler, Who now in glory s.h.i.+nes;

And several more of our old chums, Who s.h.i.+ne in Kingdom Come, We all a.s.sociated round the Old Keg of Rum.

Chorus

Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!

We all a.s.sociated round the Old Keg of Rum.

And when harvest time was over, And we'd get our harvest fee, We'd meet, and quickly rise the keg, And then we'd have a spree.

We'd sit and sing together Till we got that blind and dumb That we couldn't find the bunghole Of the Old Keg of Rum.

Chorus

Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!

That we couldn't find the bunghole Of the Old Keg of Rum.

Its jovially together, boys- We'd laugh, we'd chat, we'd sing; Sometimes we'd have a little row Some argument would bring.

And oftimes in a scrimmage, boys, I've corked it with my thumb, To keep the life from leaking From the Old Keg of Rum.

Chorus

Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!

To keep the life from leaking From the Old Keg of Rum.

But when our spree was ended, boys, And waking from a snooze, For to give another drain The old keg would refuse.

We'd rap it with our knuckles- If it sounded like a drum, We'd know the life and spirit Had left the Old Keg of Rum.

Chorus

Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!

We'd know the life and spirit Had left the Old Keg of Rum.

Those happy days have pa.s.sed away, I've seen their pleasures fade; And many of our good old friends Have with old times decayed.

But still, when on my travels, boys, If I meet with an old chum, We will sigh, in conversation, Of the Grand Old Keg of Rum.

Chorus

Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!

We will sigh, in conversation, Of the Grand Old Keg of Rum.

So now, kind friends, I end my song, I hope we'll meet again, And, as I've tried to please you all, I hope you won't complain.

You younger folks who learn my song, Will, perhaps, in years to come, Remember old Jack Palmer And the Old Rum Of Rum.

Chorus

Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!

Remember old Jack Palmer And the Old Keg of Rum.

THE MURRUMBIDGEE SHEARER

Come, all you jolly natives, and I'll relate to you Some of my observations-adventures, too, a few.

I've travelled about the country for miles, full many a score, And oft-times would have hungered, but for the cheek I bore.

I've coasted on the Barwon-low down the Darling, too, I've been on the Murrumbidgee, and out on the Paroo; I've been on all the diggings, boys, from famous Ballarat; I've loafed upon the Lachlan and fossicked Lambing Flat.

I went up to a squatter, and asked him for a feed, But the knowledge of my hunger was swallowed by his greed.

He said I was a loafer and for work had no desire, And so, to do him justice, I set his shed on fire.

Oh, yes, I've touched the shepherd's hut, of sugar, tea, and flour; And a tender bit of mutton I always could devour.