I've been singing this occasionally for almost thirty years. One day I'll get it right.

RYEBUCK SHEARER

CHORUS:

...And if I don't shear a tally before I go,
My shears and my stone in the river I'll throw;
And 'I'll never open sore' means to take another blow,
To prove I'm a ryebuck shearer...

Well I come from the North and my name is Phil,
And when my shears are properly steeled,
There's a hundred or more I have very often peeled,
And of course I'm a ryebuck shearer.

There's a bloke on the board and I heard him say,
I couldn't shear a hundred sheep in a day.
Well! One fine day, I'll show him the way,
And I'll prove I'm a ryebuck shearer.

One fine day and I won't say when,
I'll up off my arse and I'll into the pen;
While the ringers shearing five, I'll be shearing ten,
And I'll prove I'm a ryebuck shearer.

There's a bloke from the South or so I've heard,
Got a face like a dried up buffalo turd.
If you think that's bad, well you ought to see his bird,
And of course she's a ryebuck shearer.

There's a bloke from the West he's got a yellow skin,
He's got a funny pigtail and he shaves on the chin;
And a voice like a billygoat pissing in a tin,
And of course he's a ryebuck shearer.