And I'm gobsmacked that this hasn't yet turned up on Mudcat. DOn't be put off by the rumour that some bod has put a tune to it; it's much better as a recitation.

OK, I admit it's a bit local; the creek that runs through my place is a tributary of Rocky River (how original is that?) which, when joined with Booroolong Creek, becomes the Gwydir, just over the hill from the house.

THE SPIDER FROM THE GWYDIR
Anon.

By the sluggish River Gwydir
Lived a vicious redback spider;
He was just about as vicious as could be.
And the place that he was camped in
Was a rusty Jones's jam tin
In a paddock by the showground at Moree.

Near him lay a shearer snoozing;
He'd been on the grog and boozing
All the night and half the previous day,
And the 'kooking' of the kookas
And the spruiking of the spruikers
Failed to wake him from the trance in which he lay.

The a crafty looking spieler
With a dainty little sheila
Came along collecting wood to make a fire.
Said the spieler, "Here's a boozer,
And he's gonna be a loser;
If he isn't, you can christen me a liar."

"Stay here and keep nit, honey,
While I fan the mug for money,
And we'll have some little luxuries for tea."
Said the sheila, "Don't be silly!
You go home and boil the billy.
You can safely leave this mug to little me."

So she circled ever nearer
'til she reached the dopey shearer
With his pockets bulging, still asleep and snug.
But she never saw the spider
That was creepin' up beside her,
'Cos her mind was on the money and the mug.

Now the spider needed dinner,
He was daily growin' thinner;
He'd been fasting and was empty as an urn.
As she eyed the bulging pocket,
He darted like a rocket,
And he bit the spieler's sheila on the stern.

Well the sheila ran off squealin'
And her dress began unpeelin'.
As she sprinted she was feelin' quite forlorn.
On the bite one hand was pressin'
While the other was undressin'
And she reached the camp the same as she was born.

Now the shearer, pale and haggard,
Woke, and back to town he staggered,
Where he caught the train and gave the booze a rest.
And he never knew that spider,
That was camped there by the Gwydir,
Had saved him sixty smackers of the best!

Cheers, Rowan