According to Roderick, "Freedom on the Wallaby (May 1891)" was given a major revision in September 1894, with further changes in 1913.

In addition minor changes were done for publication in drifferent journals.

1891 version, Published in the Brisbane Worker May 1891

OUR FATHERS toiled for bitter bread
    While idlers thrived beside them;
But food to eat and clothes to wear
    Their native land denied them.
They left their native land in spite
    Of royalties' regalia,
And so they came, or if they stole
    Were sent out to Australia.

They struggled hard to make a home,
    Hard grubbing 'twas and clearing.
They weren't troubled much with toffs
    When they were pioneering;
And now that we have made the land
    A garden full of promise,
Old greed must crook his dirty hand
    And come to take it from us.

But Freedom's on the Wallaby,
    She'll knock the tyrants silly,
She's going to light another fire
    And boil another billy.
We'll make the tyrants feel the sting
    Of those that they would throttle;
They needn't say the fault is ours
    If blood should stain the wattle.


1894 version Published Sydney Worker September 1894

There's trouble in the back countree
   An' Freedom's humping bluey,
An' Freedom's on the wallaby
   Oh! don't you hear 'er cooey?
She's just begun to boomerang,
   She'll knock the tyrants silly,
She's goin' to light another fire
   And boil another billy.

Our fathers toiled for bitter bread
   While loafers thrived beside 'em,
But food to eat and clothes to wear,
   Their native land denied 'em.
An' so they left their native land
   In spite of their devotion,
An' so they came, or if they stole,
   Were sent across the ocean.

Then Freedom couldn't stand the glare
   Of Royalty's regalia,
She left the loafers where they were,
    And came out to Australia.
But now across the mighty main
    The chains have come to bind her –
She little thought to see again
    The wrongs she left behind her.

Our parents toiled to make a home,
    Hard grubbin' 'twas an' clearin'
They wasn't crowded much with lords
    When they was pioneering.
But now that we have made the land
    A garden full of promise,
Old Greed must crook his dirty hand
    And come to take it from us.

So we must fly a rebel flag,
    As others did before us,
And we must sing a rebel song
    And join in rebel chorus.
We'll make the tyrants feel the sting
    Of those that they would throttle;
They needn't say the fault is ours
   If blood should stain the wattle!


Bruce D