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Mudcat Australia-New Zealand Songbook
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 17 May 21 - 09:32 PM PERCENTAGE GAMES by John Warner, 05/11/11, Tune: Calon Lan [Trad Welsh], Simpler version of the tune “Miner’s Life” Audio One per cent plays games with money, One per cent is in control, One per cent controls our labour, One per cent can buy our souls, One per cent is greedy bankers, One per cent plays stocks and shares, One per cent owns starving nations, They’re not one per cent that cares. Ninety-nine per cent are angry, Ninety-nine per cent declare To the one per cent who own us, Cut your profits, pay your share. One per cent can ground an airline, Hack computers, bug your phones, One per cent has no compassion, For the world it thinks it owns Ninety-nine per cent are workers, Unemployed or over aged, With the rising cost of living, Ninety-nine per cent enraged. Ninety-nine per cent are angry, Ninety-nine per cent declare To the one per cent who own us, Cut your profits, pay your share. Pay the taxes you’ve avoided, On our resources, pay the rent, Cut the interest, increase wages, Give us ninety-nine per cent. One per cent had better listen, One percent, let go of power, Ninety-nine per cent have risen, We’re prepared to seize the hour. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 17 May 21 - 09:11 PM JUSTICE DELAYED by John Warner 1998. Tune: Mixture of Muckin' o' Geordie's Byre and Bonnie Dundee/Billy of Tea Audio Justice delayed is justice denied, Four judges have ruled that the right's on our side, Now give us our jobs back and fling the gates wide, For justice delayed is justice denied. We've maintained the peace as we stood for our right, They brought in the dogs and armed thugs for the fight. They went to the courts and the courts ruled our way, Why are we still standing outside today? It's comic to hear business men crying poor, They can't pay fair wages yet they pay for the law, The law goes against them, as rightly it ought, And still they have money to try the next court. They say they can't pay us, the company's broke, And we'd all be laughing except it's no joke. They're still paying scabs on the big hired bus, But they've stripped all the assets, there's no cash for us. We're sick of injunctions, we're sick of the wait, While scabs wreck equipment we see through the gate. Our trust in the law's wearing weary and thin, It's time to do justice and let us back in. Visit John on the web at: www.folkjohnwarner.com John and Margaret sing the song on the MUA Centenary CD "With These Arms" |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 16 May 21 - 09:27 PM WARNING: This song contains offensive elements. This is from Stewart and Keesing's 'Old Bush Songs'. It was supplied by the late Bill Harney. Ron Edwards also collected it from Harney in 1957 and included it in his big book. It has been recorded by Ted Egan who also sang it in Keith McKendry's 'White on Black' themed concert that was mentioned in an earlier post. Bill Harney said that the song was composed by Jim Burgoin, a Territorian, in the 1930s. (The name is spelled 'Burgoyne' in S&K's book). As noted by Edwards, the final stanza refers to the an Aboriginal tree burial, a custom that persisted among some tribes until relatively recent times. Ted Egan and Bill Harney's son, Bill Yidumduma Harney, will be sharing their stories and experiences at the 50th Top Half Folk Festival next month. THE DALY RIVER-O! (Jim Burgoin) Now come all you sports that want a bit of fun. Roll up your swags and pack up a gun, Get a little bit of flour and sugar and tea, And don’t forget a gallon of Gordon’s O.P. And crank up your lizzie and come along with me, And I’ll show you such sights that you never did see, Down on the Daly River-O! . There was Wallaby George, there was Charlie Dargie, There was Old Skinny Davis, there was Jimmy Pan Kwee, The Tipperary Pong and old Paree And where’er you may roam you will find yourself at home, For they are noted for their hospitality. You are wakened in the morn, and your heart’s full of glee, With a little dark maid and a pannikin of tea, And she’ll give you such a welcome that you don’t want to go, Away from the Daly River-O! Now I saw a buffalo and a fat Chinee Run a dead heat to the foot of a tree, The chinaman flew, he didn’t feel the ruts, Till the buffalo stopped with a bullet in the guts, And the wild birds rose at the sound of the gun, And the water dropped a foot in the silver billabong, With ducks, geese and feathers, you couldn’t see the sun, Down on the Daly River-O! Well the buffalo kicked, we poured in the lead, We killed him ten times to make sure he was dead, Then we out with our knives and we all hopped in, Two whites, a chow, five blacks and a gin, We ripped him up the backbone, we slit him up the guts, We took little fancy tit-bits, funny fancy cuts, Then we cranked up the Lizzie and shouted “Right-oh !” All aboard for the Daly River-O! Now I saw a black man sitting in a tree, The crows had picked his eyes out so he couldn’t see, (And never and never a word spoke he,) For he was as dead as dead could be. He was just about ripe, the smell was high, Like a billabong of fish when the water goes dry, When Dargie threw a gibber that hit him in the mush, And the native went “Phoosh” and we all went bush, Down by the Daly River-O! Ted has made some minor alterations in his rendition. Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 15 May 21 - 10:33 PM SAINT PETER (H.Lawson/P.Duggan) Now, I think there is a likeness 'twixt St Peter's life and mine For he did a lot of trampin' long ago in Palestine He was union when the workers first began to organise And I'm glad that old St Peter keeps the gate of paradise When the ancient agitator and his brothers carried swags I've no doubt they very often tramped with empty tucker-bags And I'm glad he's heaven's picket, for I hate explainin' things And he'll think a union ticket just as good as Whitely King's When I reach the great head-station that is somewhere 'off the track' I won't want to talk with angels who have never been outback They might bother me with offers of a banjo meanin' well Or a pair of wings to fly with when I only want a spell I'll just ask for old St Peter and I know when he appears I will only have to tell him that I carried swag for years 'I've been on the track,' I'll tell him, 'and I done the best I could' And he'll understand me better than the other angels would He won't try to get a chorus out of lungs that's worn to rags Or to graft the wings on shoulders that is stiff with humpin' swags But I'll rest about the station where the work-bell never rings Till they blow the final trumpet and the Great Judge sees to things I first came across this Lawson poem on Alan Scott and Keith McKenry's 'Travelling through the storm' album. Unfortunately, that rendition is not available on YT. Whitely King was the secretary of the Pastoralists’ Union of New South Wales, an employers’ body established in 1890 to further the interests of farmers, especially with their dealings with labour unions. Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 15 May 21 - 09:30 AM 500 YEARS - Written by Peter Klein arranged by Patrick Harte. Inspired by a tree that was planted when a church was built in the 1600's in England. The church had a fire in the 1980's and the tree was used to rebuild the roof. Long term planning- we need more of it! video - Ecopella Oh ya gotta think five hundred years from now Plant a tree today and put it in the ground Ya gotta water it and nurture it and watch it grow Be gentle with the earth 'cause we all know... Five hundred years from now Make a plan today and take it to town We want the rivers to flow, trees to be tall Ya gotta think big and not too small We want the water to sparkle, fish to swim Birds to fly high, it isn't a sin Trees to be tall, the forests to grow Ya gotta think big and let it flow Ya gotta think five hundred years from now, plant a tree today and put it in the ground Ya gotta water it and nurture it and watch it grow Be gentle with the earth 'cause we all know That it's your great great great great, Great great great great grand kids Who'll see what you do It's your great great great great, Great great great great grand kids Who'll love what you do Five hundred years from now... You know I heard a politician just the other day He said: "We'll plan for three years and that should be okay We'll dig a huge hole in the ground And see how much uranium can be found Turn the sky purple, make the earth explode Lots of money in the bank, yeah, that's the way to go 'Cause all I really care about is my next election plan Five hundred years I just don't understand!" Ya gotta think five hundred years from now... Five hundred years starts... now! from Ecopella's 2nd CD - 'Songs in the Key of Green' available from www.cdbaby.com/cd/ecopella2 |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 15 May 21 - 09:19 AM LET'S PRETEND - that climate change is not happening: a song about climate denial Words: Geoff Francis 2011 Melody: Peter Hicks 2011, Arranged: Miguel Heatwole 2012 as sung by Ecopella at the Short and Sweet vocal competition at Chatswood, Sydney 15th March 2015. video - Ecopella sings Let's pretend. Lyrics: Let's pretend it isn't happening. Let's pretend it isn't true, let's pretend that we can go on just the way we used to do. Let's pretend that cutting carbon ten percent or maybe five will be enough to shape a climate that our children can survive Let's pretend that giving handouts to those polluters who are worst will in some strange way save our future from forever being cursed Let's pretend it isn't happening. Let's pretend it isn't true, let's pretend that we can go on just the way we used to do. Let's pretend that there's a method of burning coal that's clear and clean Let's pretend that nuclear power is safer than it's ever been Let's pretend that turning lights down and giving plastic bags away by itself is all that's needed to usher in a brighter day Let's pretend that growing output more and more and more each year is our best hope for tomorrow rather than our deepest fear. Let's pretend it isn't happening. Let's pretend it isn't true, let's pretend that we can go on just the way we used to do. Let's pretend that Tony Abbot isn't really all that bad let's pretend for just one moment that he isn't barking mad Let's pretend the sun goes 'round the earth. let's pretend the Earth is flat. That those scientists don't know anything and that climate change is crap. Let's pretend it isn't happening. Let's pretend it isn't true, let's pretend that we can go on just the way we used to do. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 15 May 21 - 06:51 AM THE MAN FROM IRONBARK by Banjo Paterson, music by Wallis & Matilda video - Walls & Matilda It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town, He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down. He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop, Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber’s shop. ‘ ’Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I’ll be a man of mark, I’ll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.’ The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are, He wore a strike-your-fancy sash, he smoked a huge cigar; He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee, He laid the odds and kept a ‘tote’, whatever that may be, And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered, ‘Here’s a lark! Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark.’ There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber’s wall. Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all; To them the barber passed the wink, his dexter eyelid shut, ‘I’ll make this bloomin’ yokel think his bloomin’ throat is cut.’ And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark: ‘I s’pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark.’ A grunt was all the reply he got; he shaved the bushman’s chin, Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in. He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat, Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim’s throat; Upon the newly-shaven skin it made a livid mark — No doubt it fairly took him in — the man from Ironbark. He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear, And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear, He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd’rous foe: ‘You’ve done for me! you dog, I’m beat! one hit before I go! ‘I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark! ‘But you’ll remember all your life the man from Ironbark.’ He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout He landed on the barber’s jaw, and knocked the barber out. He set to work with nail and tooth, he made the place a wreck; He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck. And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark, And ‘Murder! Bloody Murder!’ yelled the man from Ironbark. A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show; He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go. And when at last the barber spoke, and said ‘’Twas all in fun — ‘’Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.’ ‘A joke!’ he cried, ‘By George, that’s fine; a lively sort of lark; ‘I’d like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.’ He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat, Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim’s throat; Upon the newly-shaven skin it made a livid mark — No doubt it fairly took him in — the man from Ironbark. He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear, And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear, He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd’rous foe: ‘You’ve done for me! you dog, I’m beat! one hit before I go! ‘I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark! ‘But you’ll remember all your life the man from Ironbark.’ He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout He landed on the barber’s jaw, and knocked the barber out. He set to work with nail and tooth, he made the place a wreck; He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck. And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark, And ‘Murder! Bloody Murder!’ yelled the man from Ironbark. A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show; He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go. And when at last the barber spoke, and said ‘’Twas all in fun — ‘’Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.’ ‘A joke!’ he cried, ‘By George, that’s fine; a lively sort of lark; ‘I’d like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.’ |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 15 May 21 - 06:45 AM MULGA BILL'S BICYCLE by Banjo Paterson video - Walls & Matilda 'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze; He turned away the good old horse that served him many days; He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen; He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine; And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride, The grinning shop assistant said, `Excuse me, can you ride?' `See, here, young man,' said Mulga Bill, `from Walgett to the sea, From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me. I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows, Although I'm not the one to talk -- I HATE a man that blows. But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight; Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wild cat can it fight. There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel, There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel, But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight: I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight.' 'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode, That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road. He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away. It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak, It whistled down the awful slope, towards the Dead Man's Creek. It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box: The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks, The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground, As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound. It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree, It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be; And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek. 'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore: He said, `I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before; I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five pound bet, But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet. I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve. It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still; A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill.' |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 14 May 21 - 11:34 PM TO AN OLD MATE (H.Lawson/J.Schumann) Old Mate! In the gusty old weather When our hopes and our troubles were new In the years we spent in wearing out leather I found you unselfish and true I have gathered these songs together For the sake of our friendship and you And I send them along instead of the letters I promised to write to you I remember, Old Man, I remember The tracks that we followed are clear The jovial last nights of December The solemn first days of the year Long tramps through the clearings and timber Short partings on platform and pier I remember, Old Man, I remember The tracks that we followed are clear I can still feel the spirit that bore us And often the old stars will shine I remember the last spree in chorus For the sake of that other Lang Syne, When the tracks lay divided before us Your path through the future and mine I can still feel the spirit that bore us And often the old stars will shine You will find in these pages a trace of That side of our past which was bright And recognise sometimes the face of a friend A friend who has dropped out of sight I have gathered these songs together For the sake of our friendship and you And I send them along instead of the letters I promised to write to you As recorded by John Schumann on 'Lawson' and 'Behind the Lines' albums. He made some omissions and alterations. The original poem Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 14 May 21 - 11:31 PM I've just finished watching the videos - wow! It was fantastic. I've never had a TV & haven't seen a movie since the early 80s, & they were rare events. I occasionally watch songs on youtube, sometimes I might even binge & watch half a dozen or more ... I'm just not a watcher! We got a TV when I was 14 & I watched bits & pieces until I moved out about 10 years later, did I say I'm just not a watcher?, but I really enjoyed the action, & also found myself wondering how today's movie makers would have done that scene as I watched the same background flashing past. sandra (who has even been known to book acts without looking at their videos! Bookings are based on reputations, of course, we only get the best acts!!) |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 14 May 21 - 11:04 PM THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER by Banjo Paterson music by Wallis & Matilda There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around That the colt from Old Regret had got away, And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound, So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far Had mustered at the homestead overnight, For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are, And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight. There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup, The old man with his hair as white as snow; But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up — He would go wherever horse and man could go. And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, No better horseman ever held the reins; For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand, He learnt to ride while droving on the plains. And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast, He was something like a racehorse undersized, With a touch of Timor pony — three parts thoroughbred at least — And such as are by mountain horsemen prized. He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that won’t say die — There was courage in his quick impatient tread; And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye, And the proud and lofty carriage of his head. But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay, And the old man said, “That horse will never do For a long and tiring gallop — lad, you’d better stop away, Those hills are far too rough for such as you.” So he waited sad and wistful — only Clancy stood his friend — “I think we ought to let him come,” he said; “I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end, For both his horse and he are mountain bred.” “He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side, Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough, Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride, The man that holds his own is good enough. And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home, Where the river runs those giant hills between; I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam, But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.” So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa clump — They raced away towards the mountain’s brow, And the old man gave his orders, “Boys, go at them from the jump, No use to try for fancy riding now. And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right. Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight, If once they gain the shelter of those hills.” So Clancy rode to wheel them — he was racing on the wing Where the best and boldest riders take their place, And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash, But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash, And off into the mountain scrub they flew. Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black Resounded to the thunder of their tread, And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way, Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day, No man can hold them down the other side.” When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull, It well might make the boldest hold their breath, The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer, And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed, While the others stood and watched in very fear. He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat — It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, Down the hillside at a racing pace he went; And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound, At the bottom of that terrible descent. He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill, And the watchers on the mountain standing mute, Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still, As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet, With the man from Snowy River at their heels. And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. He followed like a bloodhound on their track, Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home, And alone and unassisted brought them back. But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, For never yet was mountain horse a cur. And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise Their torn and rugged battlements on high, Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze At midnight in the cold and frosty sky, And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day, And the stockmen tell the story of his ride. Source: Andrew Barton Paterson. The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1896 [January 1896 reprinting of the October 1895 edition], pages 3-9 Previously published in: The Bulletin, 21 December 1889 Editor’s notes: beetled = jutting or overhanging (from beetle-browed, i.e. having heavy overhanging eyebrows); not to be confused with “beetled” as in someone who has scurried off or “beetled off” (moved like a beetle) Clancy of the Overflow = a character, who was an expert stockman, created by Banjo Paterson for his poem “Clancy of the Overflow” 2 clips from the movie Man from Snowy River (1982) directed by George Miller, posted on Youtube by Frederick Roberts. Artist - Wallis and Matilda, Album - Banjo The Bard Of The Bush - 30th Anniversary Musical Tribute to A.B. (Banjo) Paterson |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 14 May 21 - 10:54 PM A BUSH CHRISTENING by Banjo Paterson - music by Wallis & Matilda video - Walls & Matilda On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few, And men of religion are scanty, On a road never cross’d ’cept by folk that are lost, One Michael Magee had a shanty. Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad, Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned; He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest For the youngster had never been christened. And his wife used to cry, ‘If the darlin’ should die ‘Saint Peter would not recognize him.’ But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived, Who agreed straightaway to baptize him. Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue, With his ear to the keyhole was listenin’, And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white, ‘What the divil and all is this christenin’?’ He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts, And it seemed to his small understanding, If the man in the frock made him one of the flock, It must mean something very like branding. So away with a rush he set off for the bush, While the tears in his eyelids they glistened — ‘’Tis outrageous,’ says he, ‘to brand youngsters like me, ‘I’ll be dashed if I’ll stop to be christened!’ Like a young native dog he ran into a log, And his father with language uncivil, Never heeding the ‘praste’ cried aloud in his haste ’Come out and be christened, you divil!’ But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug, And his parents in vain might reprove him, Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke) ‘I’ve a notion,’ says he, ‘that’ll move him.’ ‘Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog; ‘Poke him aisy — don’t hurt him or maim him; ‘’Tis not long that he’ll stand, I’ve the water at hand, ‘As he rushes out this end I’ll name him. ‘Here he comes, and for shame, ye’ve forgotten the name — ‘Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?’ Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout — ‘Take your chance, anyhow, wid ‘Maginnis’!’ As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub Where he knew that pursuit would be risky, The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head That was labelled ‘Maginnis’s Whisky!’ And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P., And the one thing he hates more than sin is To be asked by the folk who have heard of the joke, How he came to be christened ‘Maginnis’! note - Previously published in: The Bulletin, 16 December 1893 Editor’s notes: collogue = to talk privately; confer secretly praste = a rendering of the word “priest” in an Irish accent spalpeen = scamp or rascal; from the Irish Gaelic “spailpin”, a seasonal laborer, itinerant worker, or rascal Wallis & Matilda on youtube |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 14 May 21 - 10:47 PM more on Wallis & Matilda, interpreters of the works of Banjo Paterson. Wallis & Matilda Wallis & Matilda on youtube Wallis & Matilda - links to sound clips of the 65 Paterson songs they recorded OMG, a gold min, wot a resource for singers & those of us who list songs!! videos of 2 of these songs are on The Institute of Australian Culture Heritage, history, and heroes;, so I'll post them & maybe then resume my search for a LAWSON song I was after! tho of course, this gold mine might have other good stuff that needs harvesting ... |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 14 May 21 - 10:34 PM just found an interesting website The Institute of Australian Culture Heritage, history, and heroes; literature, legends, and larrikins; stories, songs, and sages CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW by Banjo Paterson I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago, He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him, Just "on spec", addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow". And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected, (And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar) Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it: "Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are." In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go; As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing, For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know. And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars, And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended, And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars. I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall, And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street, And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting, Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet. And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste, With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy, For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste. And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy, Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go, While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal — But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of "The Overflow". Wallis & Matilda released their first album in 1980 and had a top 40 hit that same year with “Clancy of the Overflow”. No wonder I remembered the tune! video - Clancy of the Overflow (Wallis & Matilda) Wikipedia - Wallis and Matilda are an Australian group that interpret the works of Australian bush poet, Banjo Paterson. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: rich-joy Date: 14 May 21 - 06:09 AM Yes, I believe that biography (Giants Leap) was only Part 1 : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPvDoMbnRH4 - d'y know if the next volume has been done?? I posted one of the 2 x YT versions of his 'Darcy Dugan' back on Jan 4th 2021 (one with his band, Home Rule and one solo). I also obtained Darcy's posthumous autobiography from the Library - VERY interesting - crikey, between the NSW cops and Joh's QLD cops, I reckon there's not much any crims could teach 'em!!! Following on from one of Stewie's postings earlier this year, my next project for this Songbook will be the songs about Aboriginal warriors (who should be as well-known as the colonial bushrangers!), so Bob Campbell's Windradyne and Jimmy Governor will be included then in that batch. Cheers, R-J |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 14 May 21 - 05:10 AM Bobby Campbell's memoir well worth reading Bobby & John Dengate old mates from way back Bob writes great songs & I can only find one of his songs on youtube Bob Campbell singing Darcy Duggan - video |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 14 May 21 - 12:37 AM Gerry, I presume it was you who added the note to my previous post. Thanks. --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: rich-joy Date: 13 May 21 - 08:37 PM Stew, I discovered Bob Campbell via Jeff Corfield! I posted Bob's song about Darcy Dugan last year sometime and I'll add his aboriginal stuff soon (ish!) R-J |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 13 May 21 - 08:07 PM Great stuff, R-J. Bob Campbell is new to me. I couldn't agree more with you comments about Australia's inaction in respect of West Papua. ARNOLD AP (Alan Scott) Where the people sing in the jungle trees The songs they’ve sung for centuries Melanesian melodies Arnold Ap was one of these A small brown man in the land next door His voice is silent, he’ll sing no more I wonder what they killed him for He loved his people as I love mine The stories told in dance and rhyme Songs that came from an older time Who’d have thought it would be a crime? In the year of 1968, in the United Nations a big debate Irian Jaya is a separate state But there might be copper and there could be gold There’s all that timber could be cut and sold Democracy is put on hold Now Indonesia’s in control And since the Indonesians came, things can never be the same Transmigration is the game But Arnold went around the land with a tape recorder in his hand Taped his people and the songs they sang Arnold Ap was a dangerous man He sent his tapes across the sea To Honiara and Port Morseby Melanesian harmony But sedition takes the strangest shape Some find it in the music tape Thrown in jail was Arnold’s fate Then killed when trying to escape But his voice is there in the evening breeze In songs sung down the centuries Melanesian melodies Arnold Ap is dead and gone His spirit lives in his people’s song People and land and soul are one And his name will live while the fight goes on While the fight goes on I have no YT clip or audio for this one. The above is my transcription from a CD by Alan Scott and Keith McKenry 'Travelling through the storm'. Unfortunately, my copy from Trad & Now came minus the booklet. I think the lyrics are accurate, but I have no idea of the stanza or even line structure. It would be great if someone could correct it. Arnold Ap Singing for life --Stewie. The booklet doesn't have the lyrics, but it has these notes, written by Keith McKenry: In 1963 Indonesia gained control of the former Dutch colony of West New Guinea, an act given legitimacy in 1968 by a farcical plebiscite (an "Act of Free Choice") overseen by the United Nations. Since that time there has been an on-going campaign of resistance by some ethnic Papuans to Indonesian rule. Alan was profoundly moved by the story of Arnold Ap, curator of the Papuan Collection at the Anthropological Museum of Centerwashi University in Irian Jaya. Arnold was killed by Indonesian authorities in April 1983, supposedly while trying to escape lawful custody. He had been held without charges for alleged pro-resistance activities. Seemingly however, his real crime was collecting for posterity the songs and music of his people. "That could have been me," Alan observed, and wrote this, one of his few original songs. Published in the Cornstalk Gazette, July 1990. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: rich-joy Date: 13 May 21 - 07:03 PM MR PEABODY IS STILL DESTROYING COMMUNITIES & THE ENVIRONMENT - IN AUSTRALIA TOO Though the late-and-great John Prine sang in 1971 about the Kentucky town of Paradise, lost by strip mining to Mr Peabody’s infamous coal train, history just keeps repeating itself - and at present, Down Under in NSW : https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2021/may/02/im-not-selling-what-happens-when-an-australian-town-is-consumed-by-a-us-coalminer (may need to cut-and-paste - news links are being tampered with these days ...) “what happens when an Australian town is consumed by a US coalminer” (the current story of the town of Wollar) 02 May 2021 KILLER BLACK COAL MINES Bob Campbell Once I lived in Paradise, now I live in hell Peabody Coal Mines are chewing my hill Poor old Ulan’s rolling down a hole Going down for profit and Killer Black Coal. Killer Black Coal Mines growing everywhere Killer Black Coal Mines does anybody care Killer Black Coal Trains coming round the bend Killer Black Coal Trains ripping out again. Goodbye wombat, grey kangaroo, red-necked wallaby, emu too Wedge-tailed eagles flapping in despair, gotta eat somewhere, doesn’t know where. Singleton and Muswellbrook, the kids are dying young You can taste the lead and sulphur everytime you move your tongue. Headlights, crash sites, the miners own the road Big trucks rolling, lungs on overload. Shit creek, Cripple Creek, spoil? everywhere The mountains are a moonscape, valleys dead and bare. Shit creek, Cripple Creek - does anybody care That the mountains are a moonscape, valleys dead and bare. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNFWT-BGJLw sung here by Bob Campbell, with additional commentary by members of the affected coal communities in the historic Gulgong vicinity. See more about Bob’s history and longtime musical endeavours AND the stories behind this song, at http://www.fiddlerbob.com/killer-black-coal.html : "Killer Black Coal Mines was written by Bob Campbell [c.2011] a local musician of Ulan near Mudgee NSW Australia. Bob's song portrays what is happening in small communities in many parts of the world as the coal mining companies rip apart beautiful valleys and caring communities. Families dreams shattered as land is grabbed from under them. Not everyone though, only some properties are picked out and made large offers. With no options, those left behind with worthless land must also suffer the indignities of noise, air and aesthetic pollution. In the Ulan, Moolarben, Wilpinjong and Bylong Valleys they all adjoin national parks, so there is obviously many plants and animals threatened and killed. Road kill is astounding when you have this much industry adjoining national parks.” https://changingtimes.media/2017/09/19/coal-mining-devastates-villages-and-cultural-heritage-in-australias-hunter-valley/ “Coal mining devastates villages and cultural heritage in Australia’s Hunter Valley” 19 Sept 2017 And as in America, so follows Australia : https://www.smh.com.au/environment/sustainability/hunter-coal-miners-don-t-have-enough-funds-for-land-rehabilitation-20210505-p57p4b.html 06 May 2021 (may have to cut-and-paste that one; MSM link keeps reverting to a 2007 off-topic article. Hmmmm .....) : “HUNTER COAL MINERS DON'T HAVE ENOUGH FUNDS FOR LAND REHABILITATION” well well, what a surprise “Draglines at my heart” indeed ..... :( R-J |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: rich-joy Date: 13 May 21 - 02:36 AM Good one, Stew - so much about the West Papuan struggles against the might of the Indonesian Military was/is never reported in MSM - just like the East Timor Troubles all over again, where Australia (and in particular the damnable Bollockticians and faceless bureaucrat Suits) let our nearest and impoverished neighbours down in a big way. I have not posted for a while (Apr20?) - busy in my other Life - but I will try and get in a few more songs before we head to Darwin for the 50th Top Half FF. Only a month away now and my 1st time back in 17 years!!! Cheers, R-J |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 12 May 21 - 08:45 PM FREEDOM WEST PAPUA (Joe Geia) When you get to the Papua coast Tell all the people who are crying. Drink the waters from the rivers and the stream Wipe your tears from your crying Help West Papua from dying The land and sea it's a part of you Don't let anyone just take it Drink the waters from the rivers and the stream Stop the Papua from bleeding I hear west papua a bleeding Freedom flotilla - they bring our love A message from me to you With love from above Sweet, sweet love from above No more pain, no more misery Oppressor man, can't you hear me? Don't kill me while on bended knee While I am calling to my father. Forgive them, lord, they know no other Children, wives, West Papuan lives Many of them have been taken Give us strength, peace and love Sweet, sweet love for one another And forgiveness for my brother Freedom West Papua, we send our love A message from me to you With love from above Sweet, sweet love from above Oh Yawoh West Papua! Oh Yawoh West Papua! Oh Yawoh West Papua! Freedom West Papua, we send our love A message from me to you With love from above Sweet, sweet love from above So when you get to the Papua coast Tell all the people who are crying Drink the waters from the rivers and the stream Wipe your tears from your crying Help West Papua from dying Freedom West Papua, we send our love A message from me to you With love from above Sweet, sweet love from above With love from above Sweet, sweet love from above Youtube clip Joe Geia freedom flotilla West Papua --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 11 May 21 - 10:14 PM THE NYNGAN SONG (Mike Hayes) My father was the battler of the old school He never knew a time that wasn’t hard But he kept his farm and family together Though hard times always slipped beneath his guard But it took a lot to cause his faith to waiver Through a lifetime with its share of toil and pain This time I think it might have done it I never thought I’d hear him curse the rain I never thought I’d hear him curse the rain The drought had burned for years across the country When we left that sad old churchyard on the plain We knew our mother’s death had really shook him He just wiped his eyes and went back to work again And, by God, us children never wanted nothin’ Though the lean years came back time and again Though I never thought he’d ever lose the battle I never thought I’d hear him curse the rain I never thought I’d hear him curse the rain As the Bogan’s gone and broken through at Nyngan The town’s cut off, the whole damn world’s a sea It was soddenly corpses on the fence line That finally brought the old bloke to his knees I think it’s finally done it, finally Not the dust storms, not the bushfires, not the bankers Not the falling prices or the rising costs Never made him just sit out on the verandah Growing bitter ‘bout the battling years he’d lost Till now he’s never ever had the time to ponder If the years of sacrifice had been in vain And the only thing I ever heard him pray for Has come and washed his life’s work down the drain I never thought I’d hear him curse the rain And the only thing I ever heard him pray for Has come and washed his life’s work down the drain I never thought I’d hear him curse the rain No, I never thought I’d hear him curse the rain Youtube --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: GerryM Date: 11 May 21 - 03:48 AM FIRES OF '98 John Warner 19/11/92 I stand here and gaze over Strzelecki's Range, And turn in my heart half a century of change. Of country made fertile by sweat and the plough, Endless good grazing for the horse and the cow. Still I remember the small split slab hut, The clearing we made in the towering Blackbutt. The Bluegum and Dogwood, the stands of Tree Fern, That fell to the axe, that we'd gather and burn. Chorus (after each verse): So pardon my tears when I try to relate The ashes and dust of the year '98. At forty years distance, I dread to recall How massive and close was that Eucalypt wall. Of how days burned sultry, and rivers ran dry, And how fear would come with the haze in the sky. Sunset came early, the colour of rust, Our throats raw with worry, the smoke and the dust, And yet, with that nightfall, the dark never came, Just the dull, lurid menace, the colour of flame. The tongue has no words for the sound and the sight Of the savage crownfire that tore up the night. It melted our glassware, bent iron, split rock, And it shattered our souls and we wandered in shock. I remember a church hall, cool water and bread, The bitter, hard sobs as folk wept for their dead, The pitiful cries of burned cattle and sheep, Those memories that still haunt the hills of my sleep. The forests have gone with their fires and fears, My Ranges enriched by the changes of years, Grandchildren ask me of days long ago, But I hide the bushfires, they don't need to know. High on the ridges, like monument stones, Stand single, grey treestumps, a dead forest's bones. A shudder goes through as I lean on the gate, And I turn from the pain of the year '98. &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& From the album, Pithead in the Fern, Feathers and Wedge FWCD042. From the liner notes: "An elderly woman remembers the terrible Poowong bushfires of 1898 which resulted in areas of awesome native forest being totally burned out. Europeans often found such forest threatening, and its destruction and subsequent change into fertile farming land (due to the phosphate-rich ashes) was seen as a blessing. However, the fires destroyed the magnificent native woodlands and the range of the Kurnai and other aboriginal peoples. The clash between survival necessity and environmental splendor is again apparent." Poowong is in the state of Victoria, in southeastern Australia. I don't know of any recording online. Lyrics copied from Marg Walters' website. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 10 May 21 - 08:03 PM COME ALL YOU TONGUERS (Anon) Come all you tongues and land-loving lubbers Here’s a job cutting in and boiling down blubbers A job for the youngster or old and ailing The agent will grab any man for shore whaling Chorus I am paid in soap and sugar and rum For cutting in whale and boiling down tongue The agent’s fee makes my blood so to boil I’ll push him in a hot pot of oil Go hang the agent, the company too They are makin’ a fortune off me and you No chance of a passage from out of this place And the price of livin’s a bloomin’ disgrace Note in ‘Song of a Young Country’, p 9: Shore-whalers live a gloriously comfortable life compared with the sealers. They were befriended by the Maori people who built homes for them, grew food for them and worked both at whaling, and at cutting in and boiling down the blubber. Most of them married Maori women, swore loyalty to their wives’ people and were honest and hard-working. A strong comradeship sprang up amongst them. A few shore-whalers, however, became ‘candlelight fishermen’. ‘That means he got to turn out of bed in the mornin’ - he light the candle - if the flame blow out there’s too much wind for him to go - and if it don’t blow out then there ain’t enough - so he go back to bed again’ . Quote from Phil Hamond, Morston, Norfolk. Personal communication to N. Colquhoun. Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 09 May 21 - 09:41 PM RAIN IN THE MOUNTAINS (H.Lawson/C.Kempster} The valley's full of misty cloud Its tinted beauty drowning The Eucalypti roar aloud The mountain fronts are frowning The mist is hanging like a pall From many granite ledges And many a little waterfall Starts o'er the valley's edges The sky is of a leaden grey Save where the north is surly The driven daylight speeds away And night comes o'er us early But, love, the rain will pass full soon Far sooner than my sorrow And in a golden afternoon The sun may set tomorrow Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 09 May 21 - 08:20 PM Here's a Dylanesque excursion by the lad from Gympie that's not without its charm. FOLK INSOMNIA (Darren Hanlon) There's rumbling in the head again Inside the head there lived a brain Inside the brain there lived a dream That shot 'round like a laser beam Along nerve endings and synapses Past the room for memory lapses Brought about by alcohol That causes all the cell collapses Now, that dream's not the only one I had plenty more when I was young But I grew up in a big hurry And then one day I start to worry that I'm gonna be a goner before I read all the books I wanna If I plant a tree now it'll be fully grown Long after I'm just dust and bone and Now I can't sleep, it's already 3 am And i'm lying here dividing sheep by the square root of ten So I gave away my clothes to charity I turned off my TV for clarity But some days I still envy those Walking around wearing my clothes So i'll just plant a tree i'll never see grow Put a seed in the ground where no one'll know Gonna make my plan when the morning breaks But i'm just don't know how long it'll take I keep hearing voices and ringing phones But i'm staring down a highway all alone With just the company of my stomach rumble But I feel okay, it makes me humble Without a load that I must carry Or a bump in the road to make me tarry Just a pile of ashes from the miles i've burned and everything i've learned What have I learned? Don't walk in front of cars or behind horses Cats don't drink milk out of flying saucers Green means go, yellow: go faster Red means stop - a financial disaster And don't ever underestimate the fitness of a determined Jehova’s Witness And don't ever take for granted what grew from every kiss you planted If a heart can break, then a heart can feel It's to know that you're alive and real Not a rattle and bounce in a little white ball Not a number on a roulette wheel And hair it turns grey and skin it turns to leather But the best thing about growing old is we all do it together So i'll just plant a tree i'll never see grow Put a seed in the ground where no one'll know Gonna make my plan when the morning breaks But i'm just don't know how long it'll take They say that a love that's shared is a love that's carried All the way to the church where you'll be married And it's a long long way down the aisle to altar and you don't have the time to falter Love will always come and go I hope But sometimes love goes up in smoke And you're left there with the greedy ghost And just when you need them most Some of your friends have disappeared And others started acting weird And you’re left on your bed with an awful feeling Till you've learned by heart all the cracks in the ceiling And you think 'Oh god I just related to that awful love song I always hated' And the past it all becomes distorted like it was broke before you bought it Remember, you're the one who paid Pull the pin out of the hand grenade It's up to you to leave your room But don't forget to bring your spade So you can plant a tree you'll never see grow Put a seed in the ground where no one'll know Gonna make my plan forever to roam Gonna feed my nan in the nursing home Gonna make that plan when the morning breaks But I just don't know how long it’ll take Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 08 May 21 - 09:55 PM BRINDABELLA MORNING (Mike Hayes) As the snow falls on the Brindabella Ranges Watch it sparkle as it catches all the early morning light Like a string of diamonds up above the tree tops On your Brindabella morning, lord, it makes a wondrous sight But it’s not a northern billabong at sundown Where the brumbies make their way across anthill plains And you can’t look down and see a thousand buffalo Wading across the black soil after monsoon rains And the campfires of the Brinkin tribe don’t glimmer here at night To let the traveller know he’s not alone Though your Brindabella morning shines like crystal in the light It’s not my time, it’s not my place, it’s not home See the black swans nesting far out on your big lake See the water as it’s rippled by a tiny breath of breeze And a sudden flash of colour in the gum break As your parrots flit like jewels ’neath your soaring mountain trees But its not a million magpie geese a-rising Blotting out the sun as they suddenly take wing From some pool beside the Alligator River That’s dry until the first rains fall in spring And I miss those fish crocs barking around sundown When the air gets thick and those fruit bats start to roam You might find your piece of heaven on this Brindabella day But it’s not my time, it’s not my place, it’s not home Mike Hayes' reflections on leaving the Top End to live in Canberra post-Cyclone Tracy. Mike worked in Darwin for the ABC and he was the first journalist to report on the cyclone. Click Mike later became well-known for his radio program 'The Prickle Farm': Prickle Farm Mike died in 2003, a few days short of his 59th birthday. Here is a bio published in the 'The Sydney Morning Herald': Mike Hayes Unfortunately, there is no clip on YT of Mike performing 'Brindabella Morning'. However, it was recorded by Ralph Harris: Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 08 May 21 - 09:01 AM GRAVES OUT WEST, by Will Ogilvie, tune Graham Jenkin audio- Oz Folk Song a day If the lonely graves are scattered in that fenceless vast God's Acre, If no church bells chime across them, and no mourners tread between — Yet the souls of those sound sleepers go as swiftly to their Maker, And the ground is just as sacred, and the graves are just as green. If we chant no solemn dirges to the virtue of their living. If we sing no hymn words o'er them in the glory of the stars They can hear a grander music than was ever ours for giving, God's choristers invisible - the winds in the belars. If we set them up no marble, it is none the less we love them: If we carved a million columns would it bring them better rest If no gentle hands have fashioned snow-white wreaths to lay above them, God has laid His own wild flowers on the lonely graves out West. From the Overlander's 1979 album, Tribute to Western Australia. Written by Graham Jenkin. Words from Will H. Ogilvie's Fair Girls and Gray Horses With Other Verses (1907). |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 08 May 21 - 08:57 AM another song from Joy Durst dots here 077 BIG POLL THE GROG SELLER, Words: Charles Thatcher, Tune: John Medex Maddox (Philip the Falconer) audio- Oz Folk Song a day 1. Big Poll the Grog-seller gets up every day, And her small rowdy tent sweeps out. She's turning in plenty of tin, people say, For she knows what she's about, for she knows what she's about. Polly's good-looking, and Polly is young, And Polly's possessed of a smooth oily tongue, She's an innocent face and a good head of hair, And a lot of young fellows will often go there, And they keep dropping in handsome Polly to court, And she smiles and supplies them with brandy and port, And the neighbours all say that the whole blessed day She is grog-selling late and early, she is grog-selling late and early. 2. Two sly-grog detectives have come up from town, And they both roam about in disguise, And several retailers of grog are done brown, And have reason to open their eyes, and have reason to open their eyes. Of her small rowdy crib they are soon on the scent, But Polly's prepared when they enter her tent; They call for some brandy ... "We don't sell it here, But," says Poll, "I can give you some nice ginger beer," And she adds, "Do you see any green in my eye? To your fine artful dodge and disguise I am fly, For if Polly you'd nail, you'd have, without fail, To get up in the morning early, to get up in the morning early." From Thatcher's Colonial Minstrel (1864), published with the note: A new parody of Philip the Falconer as written and sung by Thatcher at the Shamrock. The original song was published as part of a Christmas pantomine in 1847. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 07 May 21 - 09:09 PM We have 625 entries in the first spreadsheet (Aug-Dec20), & the second spreadsheet (01/01/2021-date) has 324 entries! This means we have entered 969 songs, including a few duplicates. I can only think of 2, but there are probably more, but not many more! Most of these songs have video/audio links, other have dots or traditional tunes, and a small number just have a reference to an album that does not have an on-line presence. Onwards & upwards! sandra |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 07 May 21 - 08:40 PM FOR THE CHILDREN (John Schumann) The lady from the paper asked me would I write a song for you I didn't know you then but now I do And I'm stuck in this motel room with an empty aching heart And the miles roll out between us and they're tearing me apart All I've got are tunes and rhymes - this one's for you May you always feel the sunshine and take time to taste the rain May your friends be true and caring and I hope you are the same And in your fleeting passage, leave a little bit behind For the children who will follow in your footsteps Along the sands of time. I dreamed there was a world for you without the rush of rockets And the thump of khaki gunships in the sky But there were rows of eucalyptus and trains for little boys And tadpoles in a still black creek and playgrounds full of noise In my vision, fear and greed and anger were the only things to die May the wind blow gently through your life, may your principles be strong May you stand up and be counted when they work out right from wrong May your nights be short and peaceful, may your days be warm and long May your music be of service, may they pause sometimes and listen to your song And here's this little voice, reaching down the phone 'Dad you've been away so long, when are you coming home?' The lady from the paper asked me would I write a song for you I didn't know you then but now I do And I'm still in this motel room with an empty aching heart And the miles roll out between us and they're tearing me apart All I've got are tunes and rhymes - this one's for you May your eyes be filled with kindness, may the seeds of wisdom grow May you seek for truth and beauty and when you find it may you know May you help feed those who are hungry and comfort those who hurt May you always fight for justice for all of us who walk upon the earth Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 07 May 21 - 08:04 PM Here's a bit of fun: 'The Song of the Volga Shearers' aka 'Click go the shears'. 1983 precursor of Dustyesky? Click --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 07 May 21 - 06:03 AM thanks, Stewie, NLA cataloguers recording this tape put the alternate titles on 2 lines, making them look like 2 songs. YE SONS OF AUSTRALIA (NED KELLY) trad, video - Daniel Kelly Ye sons of Australia forget not your braves, Bring the wild forest flowers to strew o’er your graves, Of the four daring heroes whose race it is run, And place on their tombs the wild laurels they’ve won. On the banks of Euroa they made their first rush, They cleared out at Coppies, then steered through the bush, Black trackers and troopers soon did them pursue But cast out their anchor when near them they drew. The daring Kate Kelly how noble her mien As she sat on her horse like an Amazon queen, She rode through the forest revolver at hand, Regardless of danger, who dare bid her stand. May the angels protect this young heroine bold And her name be recorded in letters of gold Though her brothers were outlaws, she loved them most dear, And hastened to tell them when danger was near. But the great God of Mercy who scans all her ways Commanded grim death to shorten their days, Straightway to Glenrowan their course did he steer To slay those bold outlaws and stop their career. The daring Ned Kelly came forth from the inn, To wreak his last vengeance he then did begin, To slaughter the troopers straightway he did go, And tore up the railway their train to o’erthrow. But the great God of Mercy, to baulk his intent, And stop the destruction, a messenger sent, A person named Curnow, who seemed in great dread, Cried out to the troopers, ‘There’s danger ahead!’ But Time hath its changes; how dreadful their fate, They found out their error when it was too late. The house was surrounded by troopers two-score, And also expected a great many more. The daring Ned Kelly, revolver in hand, Came to the verandah, the troopers he scanned, Said he ‘You cursed wretches, we do you defy, We will not surrender, we conquer or die.’ Like the free sons of Ishmael, brought up in the wilds, Amongst forests and mountains, and rocky defiles These brave lawless fellows could not be controlled, And fought ten to one, until dearth we are told. Next day at Glenrowan, how dreadful the doom, Of Hart and Dan Kelly shut up in a room, A trooper named Johnson, set the house all aflame To burn those bold outlaws, it was a great shame The daring Kate Kelly came forth from the crowd And on her poor brother she called out aloud, ‘Come forth my dear brother, and fight while you can’ But a ball had just taken the life of poor Dan. Next morning our hero came forth from the bush Encased in strong armour his way did he push. To gain his bold comrades it was his desire – The troopers espied him, and soon opened fire. The bullets bound off him just like a stone wall, His fiendish appearance soon did them appall. His legs unprotected a trooper soon found, And a shot well directed brought him to the ground. Now he arose captured, and stripped off his mail, Well guarded by troopers and taken to gaol. Convicted for murder, it grieved him full sore, His friends and relations his fate may deplore. Now, all you young fellows take warning by me, Beware of bushranging, and bad company, For like many others you may feel the dart Which pierced the two Kellys, Joe Byrne, and Steve Hart. Thanks to Daniel Kelly for supplying the words, thus saving me from typing up the words from the original sources. Daniel included the chords but I couldn't line them up. Ye Sons of Australia was first published in The Bulletin as part of the series Old Bush Songs, starting 2nd March 1955. Bushwhacker Broadside no. 15 (originally issued as no. 14) |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 06 May 21 - 09:44 PM Sandra, as I noted above, 'Workers of the world' is the title that Meredith gave to Gladys Scrivener's rendition of Joe Hill's 'Where the Fraser River Flows' in his 'Folk Songs of Australia' collection. --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 06 May 21 - 09:28 AM don't expect to see a song by Joe Hill in an Oz/NZ songbook! 'Workers of the world' is also one of Joe Hill's songs. 2 tapes in Meredith collection at National Library for Mrs Scrivener's contribution. Gladys Scrivener sings: Wreck of the Bendigo Mail Les Darcy Sandy's fight (Larry Foley) Banks of the Condamine Workers of the world Where the River Frazer flows God save Ireland Frank Gardiner Gladys Scrivener recites: Hunting the Brelong Blacks ======= Gladys Scrivener sings: The old bark hut Bold Ben Hall Bound for Sydney Town Bold Jack Donahoe Look out below Gallant Peter Clarke When Carbine won the cup Ye sons of Australia (Ned Kelly) Where's your licences Rock-a-bye baby hmmm, there are some interesting songs there |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Stewie Date: 05 May 21 - 11:04 PM WHERE THE FRASER RIVER FLOW (Joe Hill/Tune: Where the Shannon River Flows) Fellow workers pay attention to what I'm going to mention For it is the fixed intention of the workers of the world And I hope you will be ready, true-hearted, brave and steady To gather 'round the standard where the red flag is unfurled Now the gunny-sack contractors, they’ve all proved dirty actors And they're not our benefactors, as everybody knows And why their mothers reared them or why God ever spared them Is a question we can’t answer, we the workers of the world Where the Fraser river flows, each fellow worker knows, They have bullied and oppressed us, but still our union grows And we're going to find a way, boys, for shorter hours and better pay, boys And we're going to win the day, boys, where the river Fraser flows This Joe Hill song was popular with the Wobblies (Industrial Workers of the World). The above version was collected by John Meredith from the singing of Gladys Scrivener of Erskineville NSW. Meredith published it in ‘Folk Songs of Australia’ with the title ‘Workers of the World’. Alan Musgrove recorded it on his ‘The Bagman’s Gazette’ album and added a chorus using the chorus of ‘River Shannon’ as a model: Where the dear old Fraser’s flowin’, the workers of the world Are fighting for the moment when the red flag is unfurled Though the bosses try to cheat us and cruelly mistreat us They never will defeat us where the Fraser River flows Joe Hill’s original lyrics as published in the IWW’s 1912 edition of ‘Little Red Songbook’: Fellow workers pay attention to what I'm going to mention, For it is the fixed intention of the Workers of the World. And I hope you'll all be ready, true-hearted, brave and steady, To gather 'round our standard when the red flag is unfurled. Chorus: Where the Fraser river flows, each fellow worker knows, They have bullied and oppressed us, but still our union grows. And we're going to find a way, boys, for shorter hours and better pay, boys And we're going to win the day, boys, where the river Fraser flows. For these gunny-sack contractors have all been dirty actors, And they're not our benefactors, each fellow worker knows. So we've got to stick together in fine or dirty weather, And we will show no white feather, where the Fraser river flows. Now the boss the law is stretching, bulls and pimps he's fetching, And they are a fine collection, as Jesus only knows. But why their mothers reared them, and why the devil spared them, Are questions we can't answer, where the Fraser River flows. Joe Hill wrote the song to aid construction workers laying track for the Canadian Railroad Company in British Columbia who were striking because of low pay, unsanitary living conditions, bad food and hazardous working conditions. Youtube clip --Stewie. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 09:51 AM Joy Durst dots here 098 THREE BLACK CROWS audio- Oz Folk Song a day 1. Now three black crows sat on a tree, And they were black as they could be, Crrrk, crrrk, crrk. 2. Said one black crow unto the other, "Where shall we dine today, dear brother?" Crrrk, crrrk, crrrk. 3. "On yonder hill's an old gray mare, I think, my friends, we shall dine there." Arrk, arrk, crrrk. 4. They perched upon her high backbone, And picked her eyes out one by one, Crrrk, crrrk, crrrk. 5. Said the second black crow unto the other, "Isn't she a tough old bugger?" Crrrk, crrrk, crrk. 6. Up came a squatter with his gun, And shot them all excepting one, Arrk, ark, crrrk. 7. Now that one black crow got such a fright, He turned from black right into white, Crrrk, crrrk, crrrk. 8. Now that is why you'll often see A white crow sitting on a tree, Arrk, arrk, ark. collected by W.Lowenstein from Jack "Speargrass" Guard, of Georgetown, Qld. 1969 |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 09:47 AM Joy Durst dots here 097 STRINGYBARK AND GREENHIDE audio- Oz Folk Song a day 1. I sing of a commodity, it's one that will not fail yer, I mean the common oddity, the mainstay of Australia; Gold it is a precious thing, for commerce it increases, But stringybark and greenhide can beat it all to pieces. Chorus: Singybark and greenhide, that will never fail yer, Stringybark and greenhide, the mainstay of Australia. 2. If you travel on the road and chance to stick in Bargo, To avoid a bad capsize you must unload your cargo, For to pull your dray about I do not see the force on, Take a bit of greenhide and hook another horse on. 3. If you chance to take a dray, and break your leader's traces, Get a bit of greenhide to mend your broken places; Greenhide is a useful thing, all that you require, But stringybark's another thing, when you want a fire. 4. If you want to build a hut to keep out wind and weather, Stringybark will make it snug and keep it well together; Greenhide, if it's used by you, will make it all the stronger, For if you tie it with greenhide it's sure to last the longer. 5. New-chums to this golden land, never dream of failure While you've got such useful things as these in fair Australia, For stringybark and greenhide will never, never fail yer, Stringybark and greenhide is the mainstay of Australia. Another beauty from Ron Edward's collecting, this time from Jock Dingwall in Cairns, recorded in April, 1965. Ron took these words from an undated Sydney Songster of the mid-19th century. Recorded with 1890 tenor and 1853 bass Wheatstone concertinas. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 09:34 AM Joy Durst dots here 096 THE STRANGER words & tune by John Manifold, based on a Polish air 1. A stranger came into the district last week, He wasn't a Balt and he wasn't a Greek; We enquired "Was he Irish?" He answered us, "No", He came from up North where the pineapples grow. 2. He answered so mannerly, quite at his ease, Saying neither too much nor too little to please, He was hardly a stranger by tea-time, although He came from up North where the pineapples grow. 3. We swapped the old stories of famine and flood And the crook politicians that suck a man's blood; We had reckoned they might have been local, but no! It's the same in the North where the pineapples grow. 4. We tickled his fancy with peaches and cream, We showed him Polled Angus as sleek as a dream, He agreed they were 'mighty', but still he must go ... He was needed up North where the pineapples grow. 5. The moral of this is too plain to be spoke: The bloke on the land is a sensible bloke Be he brown as a berry, or black as a crow, Or just from up North where the pineapples grow. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 09:30 AM audio- Oz Folk Song a day 095 THE STOCKMAN'S LAST BED audio- Oz Folk Song a day see Ian Turner, Edgar Walters & Wendy Lowenstein in "Tradition" Sept. 1968 1. Be ye stockman or no, to my story give ear, Alas for poor Jack, no more shall we hear The crack of his stockwhip, his nag's lively trot, His clear "Go ahead, boys", his jingling quart pot. Chorus: For we laid him where wattles their sweet fragrance shed, And the tall gum trees shadow the stockman's last bed. 2. While drafting one day, he was horned by a cow, "Alas!" cried poor Jack, "It's all up with me now! For I fear I shall never my saddle regain, Or bound like a wallaby over the plain." 3. His whip, it is silent, his dogs they do mourn, His horse waits in vain for his master's return, No friends to bemoan him, unheeded he dies, Save Australia's dark sons, none knows where he lies. 4. Now, stockman, if ever on some future day, After wild cattle you happen to stray, Tread softly the creek-bed where trees make a shade, For it may be the spot where poor Jack's bones are laid. From the Queensland Native Companion Songster (1865). Recorded by Burl Ives on his 1958 album, Australian Folk Songs. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 09:27 AM Joy Durst dots here 094 THE STEEPLECHASE RIDERS, Words: Will H Ogilvie, Tune: Florian Pascal audio- Oz Folk Song a day 1. We will deck them in cream and in crimson, In chocolate and tartan and blue, And speed them away from the barrier, And trust them to struggle it through. Chorus (first and last verses): Oh, the riders, the steeplechase riders, They carry their lives in their hands. 2. We come with the best of our sportsmen And the fairest fair girls of the land, To speed them away from the barrier, And cheer them in front of the stand. 3. They don't have a fair lady wearing Their colours of crimson and blue, But they'll put up their silk for a living, And ride for a guinea or two. 4. There's a roar from the crowd on the corner, A shout from the crowd on the Hill, For the green-and-white hoops have turned over: A loose horse and a man lying still. 5. But the crimson and black's going strongly, With the blue leading as they land, And the horses must strain at the fences, And the riders hold death in their hands. 6. For the fences are big ones and solid, They make it top speed from the start, And the man who rides out over Flemington Needs more than the average heart. 7. Then here's to the luck of the winner, And here's better luck to the last, Here's to their pluck at the timber, And here's to the Post flying past. Collected by Arthur & Kath Lumsden from Mrs Belle Brown, who learned the words about 1910. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 09:20 AM Joy Durst dots here 090 THE LOVELY LASSES OF INNISFAIL, poem by David Martin, music by Jennifer Mann 1. While yet you are young and sound of health, For Northern Queensland set your sail, For the loveliest girls in this Commonwealth Are all to be found at Innisfail. Yes, like Queensland sugar, so sweet and brown, Are the lovely lasses of Innisfail; I am heart-sick in this southern town: Oh, when goes the Queensland Mail? 2. There are pretty girls in the West, I know, And darling ones in this southern state, But the Queensland girls, with their laugh so low, In their sunset eyes I have met my fate. Yes, like Queensland flowers, so lithe and gay, Are the lovely lasses of Innisfail; Farewell, my boys, for I'm on my way Now to catch the Queensland Mail. 3. They walk like queens and like stars they dance, And their lips are soft and their smiles are deep. I have loved the girls of Spain and France, But for all their charms I have lost no sleep. (Yes,) For lovelier lasses are to be met By the Johnstone River in Innisfail; If you find me not, you may take a bet That I've left on the Queensland Mail. Meet Jennifer Mann - Singabout 1(3), 1956, p.6 16 years Jenny Mann ... has written tunes for poems by David Martin, Merv Lilley, Mary Gilmore and her father, Jim Mann. Jim Mann is related to working-class leader Thomas Mann. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 08:56 AM Joy Durst dots here 088 IT'S ON - Don Henderson, 1963 video 1. A sad story you'll hear if you listen to me, About two men who could never agree; What one called white, the other called black, They'd argue a while, then step out the back ... Chorus: And it's on! All reason and logic are gone! Winning the fight won't prove that you're right, It's sad, it's true, but it's on! 2. When it was over they'd come back and then The argument would become heated again; Who'd won the last round they couldn't decide, So one asked the other would he step outside ... 3. They'd been fighting so long they could neither recall hat in the first place had started it all. But they keep at it, day in and day out, Now they're fighting to see what they're fighting about ... 4. Just you imagine if intellectuals Came to agreement through Queensberry rules! Could easily be argued that the square root of four Was fifteen less three plus a smack on the jaw ... 5. And if governments think that it makes better sense To save on education and spend on defence, Could easily be argued that on the same grounds Elections should be ... the best of ten rounds ... |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Australia/NZ Songbook From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 08:48 AM Joy Durst dots here 084 THE DOGWOOD ITCH by words & music by Stan Wakefield 1. Once I went stripping wattle-bark, to strip a ton a day, I planned a trip to Sydney when I got my bumper pay; I never saw no city lights, nor beer, instead of which, I was seven weeks a-scratching with the dogwood itch. Chorus: Oh, the dogwood itch, isn't it a bitch! You only have to mention it to make me twitch, For when it's out in flower, you'll be scratching by the hour, You'll be scratching by the hour with the dogwood itch. 2. Now I can patch a pair of pants or fall the toughest tree, For I'm a jack of many trades, as bushmen have to be, I'll rope a steer, or roast a duck with gravy nice and rich, And the only thing that beats me is the dogwood itch. 3. Now I have shot the buffalo, and trapped the native dog, And fought me purple elephants when I've been on the grog, I've sat the station outlaw till he dumped me in the ditch, And the only thing I'm scared of is the dogwood itch. First published in Singabout 2(4), May 1958 |
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Subject: Lyr Add: ON THE DEATH OF NED KELLY (John Manifold) From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 08:41 AM Joy Durst dots here 083 ON THE DEATH OF NED KELLY Words & music John Manifold Video - Bill Berry 1. Ned Kelly fought the rich men in country and in town, Ned Kelly fought the troopers until they ran him down; He thought that he had fooled them, for he was hard to find, But he rode into Glenrowan with the troopers close behind. 2. "Come out of that, Ned Kelly," the head zarucker calls, "Come out and leave your shelter, or we'll shoot it full of holes," "If you'd take me," says Kelly, "that's not the speech to use; I've lived to spite your order, I'll die the way I choose!" 3. "Come out of that, Ned Kelly, you done a lawless thing; You robbed and fought the squatters, Ned Kelly, you must swing." "If those who rob," says Kelly, "are all condemned to die, You had better hang the squatters, for they've stolen more than I." 4. "You'd best come out, Ned Kelly, you done the Government wrong, For you held up the coaches that bring the gold along." "Go tell your boss," says Kelly, "who lets the rich go free, That your bloody rich man's government will never govern me." 5. They burned the roof above him, they fired the walls about, And head to foot in armour Ned Kelly stumbled out; Although his guns were empty he made them turn and flee, But one came in behind him and shot him in the knee. 6. And so they took Ned Kelly and hanged him in the jail, For he fought single-handed, although in iron mail, And no man single-handed can hope to break the bars: It's a thousand like Ned Kelly who'll hoist the flag of stars. lyrics In the folk revival this song was often published as a traditional song. Bill Berry tells me Manifold wrote this song when he was 14. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: CANE CUTTER'S LAMENT From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 08:33 AM Joy Durst dots here 081 CANE CUTTER'S LAMENT Audio How we suffered grief and pain On the banks of the Barron cutting cane We sweated blood we were as black as sin And the ganger he put the spur right in The greasy cook with sore-eyed look And the matter all stuck to his lashes He damned our souls with his half baked rolls And he'd poison the snakes with his hashes The first six weeks so help me Christ We lived on cheese and half boiled rice Mouldy bread and cats meat stew And corn beef that the flies had blew The cane was bad the cutters were mad The cook had shit on the liver And I'll never cut cane for that bastard again On the banks of the Barron River So now I'm leaving that lousy place I'll cut no more for that bugger He can stand in the mud that's red as blood And cut his own bloody sugar Collected by Ron Edwards from Stan Dean (and others) of Cairns, who said it was based on an old hymn. Ron Edwards writes "This ballad is known all along the coast and the second line was altered to fit different areas 'On the Isis', 'On the banks of the Herbert' etc." |
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Subject: Lyr Add: BRYANT'S RANGES (Charles Thatcher) From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 05 May 21 - 07:10 AM Joy Durst dots here 080 BRYANT'S RANGES Charles Thatcher 1. Oh, what a curious world is this, So various in its changes: I'm now alluding to the rush Down there on Bryant's Ranges; he diggers are all hastening there, As fast as they are able, With tent and pick and puddling tub, And dish and spade and cradle. Chorus: Bow, wow, wow, Tol-de-rol-de ri-de-i-de, Bow, wow, wow. 2. Golden Square is out of town, Their tents away, they've collared; Kang'roo Gully's gone sometime, And Eagle Hawk has followed. Dead Horse Flat looks dead indeed, Their tools away they've carted, And Ironbark some days ago With Sydenham Gully started. 3. The White Hills now appear quite blue, There's few left in that quarter, Sailor's Gully's short of hands, But Long Gully is much shorter; And on Commissioner's Flat as well, A very striking change is And all the world is hastening To the rush on Bryant's Ranges. 4. Sheepshead now has lost its jaw, So many have departed; Job's Gully out of patience got, And with old Tinpot started. Pegleg's given us leg bail, And what a deal more strange is, Old Blatherskyte has paid his debts, And gone to Bryant's Ranges. 5. Mother Hicks, that sells sly grog, Went away on Sunday, Sold right out, and sent back for A cart load more on Monday; And Timmy Timkins, who you know, Lives just about close handy, Has started with a dray load full Of whiskey, gin and brandy. 6. When I went to work this blessed day, On the spot where I'm located, My driving pick and puddling tub Had both absquatulated. I found my cradle gone as well, Says I, "Confound these changes; No doubt, my tools are in full work, Down there on Bryant's Ranges." 7. Well, let those rush away that like, I'm game to bet a fiver That I'll not rush and lose the tin I once did at McIvor; I'll get good information first, Before I make my changes, And if it turns out well, why then ... Here's off to Bryant's Ranges! verse 6 - Absquatulated verb (used without object), ab·squat·u·lat·ed, ab·squat·u·lat·ing. Slang. to flee; abscond: The old prospector absquatulated with our picks and shovel. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: THE BILLY-GOAT OVERLAND (A B Paterson) From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 04 May 21 - 11:17 PM Joy Durst dots here 078 THE BILLY-GOAT OVERLAND, by A. B. "Banjo" Paterson video Come all ye lads of the droving days, ye gentlemen unafraid, I'll tell you all of the greatest trip that ever a drover made, For we rolled our swags, and we packed our bags, and taking our lives in hand, We started away with a thousand goats, on the billy-goat overland. There wasn't a fence that'd hold the mob, or keep 'em from their desires; They skipped along the top of the posts and cake-walked on the wires. And where the lanes had been stripped of grass and the paddocks were nice and green, The goats they travelled outside the lanes and we rode in between. The squatters started to drive them back, but that was no good at all, Their horses ran for the lick of their lives from the scent that was like a wall: And never a dog had pluck or gall in front of the mob to stand And face the charge of a thousand goats on the billy-goat overland. We found we were hundreds over strength when we counted out the mob; And they put us in jail for a crowd of thieves that travelled to steal and rob: For every goat between here and Bourke, when he scented our spicy band, Had left his home and his work to join in the billy-goat overland. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: A THOUSAND MILES AWAY From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 04 May 21 - 10:58 PM Joy Durst dots here 075 A THOUSAND MILES AWAY 1. Hurrah for the Roma railway, hurrah for Cobb & Co! And oh! for a good fat horse or two to carry me westward-ho! To carry me westward-ho, my boys, that's where the cattle stray, On the far Barcoo, where they eat nardoo, a thousand miles away. Chorus: Then give your horses rein across the open plain, We'll ship our meat both sound and sweet, nor care what some folks say; And frozen we'll send home the cattle that now roam On the far Barcoo and the Flinders too, a thousand miles away. 2. Knee-deep in grass we've got to pass, and the truth I'm bound to tell, That in three weeks those cattle get as fat as they can swell; As fat as they can swell, my boys, and a thousand pounds they weigh, On the far Barcoo, where they eat nardoo, a thousand miles away. 3. No Yankee hide e'er grew outside such beef as we can freeze, No Yankee pastures grow such beef as we send overseas, As we send overseas, my boys, in shipments every day, On the far Barcoo, where they eat nardoo, a thousand miles away. 4. So put me up with a snaffle, and a four or five-inch spur, And fourteen foot of greenhide whip to chop the flamin' fur; We'll yard those snuffy cattle in a way that I will swear Will knock those New South Welshmen back and make them tear their hair! video Banjo Paterson included this in his Old Bush Songs. It is based on an earlier convict song called "Ten Thousand Miles Away", and uses the same tune, but with new lyrics about pastoral Australia. It has been attributed to C. A. Flower, who was the accountant for the company building the railway line between Mitchell and Roma in Queensland. 2 verses & chorus appeared in The Queenslander, Sat 13 Oct 1894. Page 692 - A THOUSAND MILES AWAY, Supplied by "SPECIALLY JIM," Tambo, AIR—" Ten Thousand Miles Away.". |
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