TO THE GULF

To the Gulf! To the Gulf! To Australia's fag-end
Where all kinds of misery walks hand in hand
Where a man is soon done if he's willing to broil
And the strongest soon finds himself under the soil
Where the squatters are rapidly going to pot
And the men are all dying like sheep, of the rot
When I'm tired of existence my steps I will bend
To that fair land of promise, Australia's fag-end

To the Gulf! To the Gulf! To that blissful retreat
Where roguery stalks coolly abroad in the heat
Where a cheque is a cheque if you live till it's got
But the chance is a hundred to one that you'll not
For unless you can live in a swamp like a frog
You may reckon on dying the death of a dog
Then if you're foolish your steps you will bend
To that fair land of promise, Australia's fag-end

To the Gulf! To the Gulf! To the land of the flies
Where each insect tormentor for mastery vies
Which shall plague you the most in the terrible heat
The Gulf is most truly a blissful retreat
Carpentaria! High wages have no charms for me
In an atmosphere pregnant with death on the spree
When I've no other refuge my steps I will bend
To that Gulf full of horrors, Australia's fag-end

Another parody set to the Down in the old front line tune. Russel Ward discovered it in a book called 'Colonial Adventures and Experiences' by George Carrington. It is not included in his 'Penguin Book of Australian Ballads', but it is in Bill Scott's Penguin compilation. Ron Edwards collected it from Frank Pitt and published it in his big book.

--Stewie.