COLONIAL EXPERIENCE
[By A New Chum]
(Air: “So Early in the Morning.”)
When first I came to Sydney Cove
And up and down the streets did rove,
I thought such sights I ne’er did see
Since first I learnt my A, B, C.
Chorus
Oh! it’s broiling in the morning,
It’s toiling in the morning,
It’s broiling in the morning,
It’s toiling all day long.
Into the park I took a stroll—
I felt just like a buttered roll.
A pretty name “The Sunny South!”
A better one “The Land of Drouth!”
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
Next day into the bush I went,
On wild adventure I was bent,
Dame Nature’s wonders I’d explore,
All thought of danger would ignore.
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
The mosquitoes and bull-dog ants
Assailed me even through my pants.
It nearly took my breath away
To hear the jackass laugh so gay!
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
This lovely country, I’ve been told,
Abounds in silver and in gold.
You may pick it up all day,
Just as leaves in autumn lay!
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
Marines will chance this yarn believe,
But bluejackets you can’t deceive.
Such pretty stories will not fit,
Nor can I their truth admit.
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
Some say there’s lots of work to do.
Well, yes, but then, ’twixt me and you,
A man may toil and broil all day—
The big, fat man gets all the pay,
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
Mayhap such good things there may be,
But you may have them all, for me,
Instead of roaming foreign parts
I wish I’d studied the Fine Arts!
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
THE STOCKMEN OF AUSTRALIA
The stockmen of Australia, what rowdy boys are they,
They will curse and swear an hurricane if you come in their
way.
They dash along the forest on black, bay, brown, or grey,
And the stockmen of Australia, hard-riding boys are they.
Chorus: And the stockmen, &c.
By constant feats of horsemanship, they procure for us our
grub,
And supply us with the fattest beef by hard work in the
scrub.
To muster up the cattle they cease not night nor day,
And the stockmen of Australia, hard-riding boys are they.
Chorus: And the stockmen, &c.
Just mark him as he jogs along, his stockwhip on his knee,
His white mole pants and polished boots and jaunty cabbage-
tree.
His horsey-pattern Crimean shirt of colours bright and gay,
And the stockmen of Australia, what dressy boys are they.
Chorus: And the stockmen, &c.
If you should chance to lose yourself and drop upon his camp,
He’s there reclining on the ground, be it dry or be it damp.
He’ll give you hearty welcome, and a stunning pot of tea,
For the stockmen of Australia, good-natured boys are they.
Chorus: For the stockmen, &c.
If down to Sydney you should go, and there a stockman
meet,
Remark the sly looks cast on him as he roams through the
street.
From the shade of lovely bonnets steal forth those glances
gay,
For the stockmen of Australia, the ladies’ pets are they.
Chorus: For the stockmen, &c.
Whatever fun is going on, the stockman will be there,
Be it theatre or concert, or dance or fancy fair.
To join in the amusements be sure he won’t delay,
For the stockmen of Australia, light-hearted boys are they.
Chorus: For the stockmen, &c.
Then here’s a health to every lass, and let the toast go round,
To as jolly a set of fellows as ever yet were found.
And all good luck be with them, for ever and to-day,
Here’s to the stockmen of Australia—hip, hip, hooray!
Chorus: Here’s to the stockmen, &c.
IT’S ONLY A WAY HE’S GOT
(As sung by the camp fire.)
No doubt the saying’s all abroad,
And rattling through the land.
We hear it at the mangle, too,
With “What are you going to stand?”
I’m sure I don’t know which to choose,
There’s really such a lot—
But I hope my song you’ll not refuse,
For it’s only a way I’ve got.
Chorus: Tol, lol, litter, tol, lol.
Tol, lol, the rol, lay.
In Sydney town a gal I met,
Her dress was rather gay,
I think the place, it was Pitt Street,
Or somewhere near that way.
Says she, “The night is very cold,
Pray, stand a drop of Hot.
I hope my freedom you’ll excuse,
For it’s only a way I’ve got.”
Chorus: Tol, lol, &c.
The drink we soon put out of sight,
And off for home did walk,
When a fellow came up and quite polite
To her began to talk.
He drew my ticker from my fob,
And bolted like a shot.
Says she, “Oh, take no notice, Bob,
It’s only a way he’s got.”
Chorus: Tol, lol, &c.
Says I, “I’ll soon catch you, my chap,”
And arter him I flies,
When another stepped up and knocked my hat
Completely o’er my eyes.
He from my pocket drew my purse,
And off with it did trot;
Says she, “It’s well it is no worse,
But it’s only a way he’s got.”
Chorus: Tol, lol, &c.
A little further on we went.
I had got rather shy.
Then a butcher ran his tray
Right bang into my eye.
The fellow said it was my fault,
Called me a drunken sot.
Then, like a thief, he slunk away,
’Twas only a way he’d got!
Chorus: Tol, lol, &c.
Now, as we walked along the street,
A lot of chaps we met.
I saw they on a game were bent;
Says they, “How fat you get!”
I got from them some ugly pokes,
They made me a regular Scot.
They said, “Oh, never mind our jokes,
It’s only a way we’ve got!”
Chorus: Tol, lol, &c.
I have grown tired of Sydney town
Since I’ve lost all my cash,
And so will up the country go,
And tell them of my smash.
Oh, then we’ll have such lots of fun,
I’ll court Miss Polly Scott;
And if she asks me what I mean
I’ll tell her it’s a way I’ve got.
Chorus: Tol, lol, &c.