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Project Gutenberg Australia HomeReturn to Index of Poems
Bullock-drivin’,
Pound a week,
‘S ‘ow I live on
Lubra Creek.
Good enough for
Greenhide Jack;
Times were rougher
Down the track.
Thin an’ lanky,
Turnin’ gray,
Gettin’ cranky
Like me dray.
Wimmen gammon
They don’t know
Old Jack Hammon
Down below.
Once they angled
Bold an’ free,
To get tangled
Up with me.
Pilin’ jam on,
Scent an’ fan—
“Mister Hammon”
Was their man.
Had me harried
With their tricks,
Could ‘a’ married
Five or six.
In the long run,
As men do,
Got the wrong ‘un—
Didn’t you?
Ginger’s dorter
Fiery tart,
Reg’lar snorter,
Broke me heart.
Spliced—instructions—
Lack-a-day!
Naggin’—ructions—
Got away.
Steer me wide o’
Such a shroo;
Good off-sider
Old black Loo.
Kiddies rather
Choco-late,
Call me father,
‘T any rate.
Want no tweeds, or
Boots to walk,
All they need’s a
Tomahawk.
An’ old Loo’s a
Model spouse,
Doesn’t booze or
Nag an’ rouse.
Fire an’ baccy,
Waterhole,
Plus old Jacky,
Soothes her soul.
Guess I’ll thrive on
Lubra Creek
Bullock drivin’
Pound a week.
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