The Papers Past Website in New Zealand has a clipping of the lyrics to this song, published in the Otautau Standard and Wallace County Chronicle, Volume XIII, Issue 644, 9 October 1917, Page 1


The following is taken from "The Karere," or "The Message," compiled by members of the Twenty-eighth Reinforcements on their voyage home:

THE REST OF THE DAY'S YOUR OWN
or, A Farmer's Boy
(by Private F.N. Dickie)

One day when I was out of work, a job I went to seek
To be a farmer's boy.
At last I found an easy job at a half-a-crown a week,
To be a farmer's boy.
The farmer said 'I think I've got the very job for you,
Your duties will be light, for this is all you've got to do:
(Chant)
Rise at three every morn,
Milk the cow with the crumpled horn;
Feed the pigs, clean the sty,
Teach the pigeons the way to fly;
Plough the fields, mow the hay,
Sow the seed, tend the crops,
Chase the flies from the turnip tops,
Clean the knives, black the shoes,
Scrub the kitchen and clean the flues,
Help the wife wash the pots,
Grow the cabbages and carrots.
Make the beds, dust the coats,
Tune the gramophone -
And then if there's no more work to do,
The rest of the day's your own.'

I scratched my head and thought it would be absolutely prime
To be a farmer's boy.
The farmer says, 'Of course you will have to do some overtime
When you're a farmer's boy.'
Said he, 'The duties that I've given you, you'll be quickly through,
So I've been thinking of a few more things that you can do":
(Chant)
Skim the milk, make the cheese,
Chop the meat for the sausages,
Bath the kids, mend the clothes,
Use your dial to scare the crows;
In the milk put the chalk,
Shave the knobs off the pickled pork;
Shoe the horse, break the coal,
Take the cat for its midnight stroll;
Cook the food, scrub the stairs,
Teach the parrot to say his prayers,
Roast the joint, bake the bread,
Shake the feathers up in the bed;
When the wife's got the gout,
Rub her funny-bone,
And then if there's no more work to do -
The rest of the day's your own.

I thought it was a shame to take his money, you can bet
To be a farmer's boy.
And so I wrote my duties down in case I should forget
I was a farmer's boy.
It took me all night to write them down, I didn't go to bed,
But somehow I got all mixed up, and this is how they read:
(Chant)
Rise at three every morn,
Milk the hen with the crumpled horn;
Scrub the wife every day,
Teach the nanny-goat how to lay;
Shave the cat, tune the cheese,
Fit the tights on the sausages;
Bath the pigs, break the pots,
Boil the kids with a few carrots,
Roast the horse, dust the bread,
Put the cocks and the hens to bed;
Boots and shoes, black with chalk,
Shave the hair off the pickled pork,
All the rest I've forgot,
Somehow it had flown,
But I got the sack this morning,
So the rest of my life's my own.


This version is almost the same as the RESTDAY version in the DT, but it fixes a number of problems I had with the DT lyrics.