Any Other Time

All of us play our very best game,
Any other time.
Golf or billiards, it's all the same,
Any other time.
Lose a match and you always say,
"Just ny luck! I was 'off' today!
I could have beaten him quite half-way,
Any other time!"

After a fiver you ought to go,
Any other time.
Every man that you ask says "Oh,
Any other time.
Lend you a fiver? I'd lend you two,
But I'm overdrawn and my bills are due,
Wish you'd ask me, now, mind you do,
Any other time!"
Fellows will ask you out to dine,
Any other time.
"Not tonight for we're twenty-nine,
Any other time.
Not tomorrow, for cook's on strike;
Not next day, I'll be out on the bike;
Just drop in whenever you like
Any other time!"

Seasick passengers like the sea,
Any other time.
"Something . . I ate . . disagreed . . with . . me!
Any other time.
Ocean-travelling is .. simply bliss,
Must be my . . liver . . has gone amiss . .
Why, I would . . laugh . . at a sea . . like this,
Any other time!"

Most of us mean to be better men,
Any other time:
Regular upright characters then,
Any other time.
Yet somehow as the years go by
Still we gamble and drink and lie,
When it comes to the last we'll want to die,
Any other time!

Andrew Barton Paterson

Andrew Barton Paterson, also known as Banjo Paterson, was an Australian bush poet, journalist, and author. Renowned for his poignant and humorous depictions of rural Australia, he wrote iconic works like "Waltzing Matilda" and "The Man from Snowy River." His storytelling, deeply rooted in Australian culture, has cemented his legacy as one of the nation's most beloved literary figures.

Andrew Barton Paterson

Santa Claus

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

A Job For McGuinness

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Ghost Of The Murderer's Hut

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

Buffalo Country

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

English

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A Voice From The Town

I thought, in the days of the droving,
Of steps I might hope to retrace,
To be done with the bush and the roving
And settle once more in my place.
With a heart that was well nigh to breaking,
In the long, lonely rides on the plain,
I thought of the pleasure of taking
The hand of a lady again.

I am back into civilization,
Once more in the stir and the strife,
But the old joys have lost their sensation,
The light has gone out of my life;
The men of my time they have married,
Made fortunes or gone to the wall;
Too long from the scene I have tarried,
And somehow, I'm out of it all.

For I go to the balls and the races
A lonely companionless elf,
And the ladies bestow all their graces
On others less grey than myself;
While the talk go...

Andrew Barton Paterson

The Outside Track

There were ten of us there on the moonlit quay,
And one on the forard hatch;
No straighter mate to his mates than he
Had ever said: Lens a match!

"Twill be long, old man, ere our glasses clink,
Twill be long ere we grip your hand!",
And we dragged him ashore for a final drink
Till the whole wide world seemed grand.

For they marry and go as the world rolls back,
They marry and vanish and die;
But their spirit shall live on the Outside Track
As long as the years go by.

The port-lights glowed in the morning mist
That rolled from the waters green;
And over the railing we grasped his fist
As the dark tide came between.

We cheered the captain and cheered the crew,
And our mate, times out of mind;
We cheered the land he was goi...

Henry Lawson

Since Then

I met Jack Ellis in town to-day,
Jack Ellis, my old mate, Jack,
Ten years ago, from the Castlereagh,
We carried our swags together away
To the Never-Again, Out Back.

But times have altered since those old days,
And the times have changed the men.
Ah, well! there's little to blame or praise,
Jack Ellis and I have tramped long ways
On different tracks since then.

His hat was battered, his coat was green,
The toes of his boots were through,
But the pride was his! It was I felt mean,
I wished that my collar was not so clean,
Nor the clothes I wore so new.

He saw me first, and he knew 'twas I,
The holiday swell he met.
Why have we no faith in each other? Ah, why?,
He made as though he would pass me by,
For he thought that I might fo...

Henry Lawson

The Battling Days

So, sit you down in a straight-backed chair, with your pipe and your wife content,
And cross your knees with your wisest air, and preach of the days mis-spent;
Grown fat and moral apace, old man! you prate of the change since then,
In spite of all, Id as lief be back in those hard old days again.

They were hard old days; they were battling days; they were cruel at times, but then,
In spite of all, I would rather be back in those hard old days again.
The land was barren to sow wild oats in the days when we sowed our own,
(Twas little we thought or our friends believed that ours would ever be sown)

But the wild oats wave on their stormy path, and they speak of the hearts of men,
I would sow a crop if I had my time in those hard old days again.
We travel first, or we go salo...

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The Wreck Of The Golfer

It was the Bondi golfing man
Drove off from the golf house tee,
And he had taken his little daughter
To bear him company.

"Oh, Father, why do you swing the club
And flourish it such a lot?"
"You watch it fly o'er the fences high!"
And he tried with a brassey shot.

"Oh, Father, why did you hit the fence
Just there where the brambles twine?"
And the father he answered never a word,
But he got on the green in nine.

"Oh, Father, hark from behind those trees,
What dismal yells arrive!"
"'Tis a man I ween on the second green,
And I've landed him with my drive."

"Oh, Father, why does the poor Chinee
Fall down on his knees and cry?"
"He taketh me for his Excellency,
And he thinks once hit twice shy."

So on they fared t...

Andrew Barton Paterson

Last Week

Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey of duck saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.

He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said,
They drowned a man there last week.

He went for a drive, and he made a start,
Which should have been made last week,
For the old horse died of a broken heart;
So he footed it home and he dragged the cart,
But the horse was all right last week,
They said,
He trotted a matc...

Andrew Barton Paterson