POLING IN THE WET
Lyrics and Music: Harry Robertson
Bogged in the swamp o’ the Monsoon wet, what do you say me bully boys?
We damn the eyes and blast the souls of them who left us with these poles,
In the leech-filled mud where the snakes are brown, and the flies as big as eagles.
Why are ye grieved at yer hellish lot? Tell me now me bully boys.
They said as how this land was fine for the building of a telegraph line,
But the bloody fools don’t know one end, of their ear-hole from their elbow.
Do you live in houses neat and clean, with curtains on the windows?
We live with the tucker we haven’t got, the green ants feed on our Barcoo rot,
And scurvy lays our brave boys down, God curse and blast the poles — oh.
I’ve heard you’re building mighty slow, now is this true me bully boys?
This isn’t South Australia’s land, with only gibber and desert sand,
But one where gullies flood five miles wide, and the white ants eat the poles out.
Do you think the job is a bit too hard, for you to finish bully boys?
We’ll finish the job you drongo bum, we’ll beat the hardships as they come,
And the critics they can go to hell, we’re Todd’s tough bully buck-oes!
© Harry Robertson,
and subsequently ©1995 Mrs Rita Robertson, Brisbane, AUSTRALIA
Registered with APRA/AMCOS www.apra-amcos.com.au