It is indeed unfortunate that many people are ignorant of, or do not respect Australia's vast cultural treasury. The following will not help address these perceptions. I will leave it to others to add further historical perspectives of 19th century Sydney or the authorship of this fine example of Australian literature.

THE BASTARD FROM THE BUSH

As the night was slowly falling over city, town and bush,
From a slum in Bludger's Alley slunk the captain of the Push;
And his whistle loud and piercing roused the echoes of The Rocks,
And a dozen ghouls come slouching round the corners of the blocks.

He sharply jerked a finger at a covey on the kerb
Whom he qualified politely with an adjective and verb
'Here's a bugger wants to join us - be a member of the Push.'
'Well, f*** you dead! I'm Foreskin Fred, the bastard from the bush.
I've been in every two-up school from Darwin to the 'Loo;
I've ridden colts and black gins - what more can a bastard do?'

'Are you game to smash a window?' asked the captain of the push.
'I'd knock the f***ing house down,' said the bastard from the bush.
'Would you take a maiden's baby? 'asked the captain of the Push.
'I'd take a baby's maiden,' said the bastard from the bush.

'Would you dong a bloody copper if you caught the c*** alone?
Would you stoush a swell or Chinky? Split his garret with a stone?
Would you knock him down and kick him?' asked the captain of the Push.
'I'd knock him down and f*** him,' said the bastard from the bush.
'And would you have a moll to keep you and swear off work for good?'
The bastard from the bush replied, 'My f***ing oath I would!'

Then the Push-ites all took council, saying, 'f*** me, but he's game!
Let's make him our star basher. He'll live up to his name.'
So they made a full-fledged member of the bastard from the bush,
And accorded him all privileges as a member of the Push.

But soon they found his little ways were more than they could stand
And thus the captain finally addressed his little band :
'Now listen here, you buggers. We've caught a f***ing starter.
At every kind of bludging this bastard is a tartar.
He beats us all at two-up, he robs our f***ing rolls,
He swigs our f***ing liquor, and he roots our f***ing molls.'

So after taking council with the captain of the Push
They laid a dark and dirty ambush for the bastard from the bush,
But against the wall of Riley's pub the bastard made a stand;
A nasty grin was on his dial, a bike chain in his hand.

One by one they flew upon him, but one by one they fell
With crack of bone, unearthly groan, and agonising yell;
Till a sorely battered captain, spitting teeth and gobs of blood
Held an ear all torn and bleeding with a hand bedaubed with mud

'You low polluted bastard!' said the captain of the Push;
Get back to where your sort belongs; that's somewhere up the bush,
And may heaps of black misfortune soon tumble down on you.
May some poxy harlot dose you till your ballocks turn sky blue.

May you take a swig of gin's piss, mistaking it for beer;
May the next Push you impose on kick you out on your f***ing ear;
May pangs of windy spasms throughout your bowels dart;
May you shit your f***ing trousers every time you try to fart;

May itching piles torment you, and corns grow on your feet,
And crabs as big as spiders attack your balls a treat;
And when you're down and outed, a dismal bloody wreck,
May you slip back through your arsehole and break your f***ing neck.

From The Bastard from the Bush, Obscene Songs and Ballads of Australian Origin, Brad Tate, Part 1 of the Brad Tate Collection, p.27.
Australian Folklore - Occasional Paper no. 11
Rams Skull Press, Kuranda, Queensland, Australia, 1982
From a limited edition of 200