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 neer did see
Since first I learnt my A, B, C.

                        Chorus

    Oh! its broiling in the morning,
    Its toiling in the morning,
    Its broiling in the morning,
    Its 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! its broiling, &c.

Next day into the bush I went,
On wild adventure I was bent,
Dame Natures wonders Id explore,
All thought of danger would ignore.

    Chorus: Oh! its 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! its broiling, &c.

This lovely country, Ive been told,
Abounds in silver and in gold.
You may pick it up all day,
Just as leaves in autumn lay!

    Chorus: Oh! its broiling, &c.

Marines will chance this yarn believe,
But bluejackets you cant deceive.
Such pretty stories will not fit,
Nor can I their truth admit.

    Chorus: Oh! its broiling, &c.

Some say theres 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! its broiling, &c.

Mayhap such good things there may be,
But you may have them all, for me,
Instead of roaming foreign parts
I wish Id studied the Fine Arts!

    Chorus: Oh! its broiling, &c.

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.

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English

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The Beautiful Land Of Australia

All you on emigration bent,
With home and England discontent,
Come, listen to my sad lament,
    All about the bush of Australia.
I once possessed a thousand pounds.
Thinks Ihow very grand it sounds
For a man to be farming his own grounds
    In the beautiful land of Australia.

                                Chorus

            Illawarra, Mittagong,
            Parramatta, Wollongong.
    If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
    Then go to the bush of Australia.

Upon the voyage the ship was lost.
In wretched plight I reached the coast,
And was very nigh being made a roast,
    By the savages of Australia.

And in the bush I lighted on
A fierce bushranger with his gun,
Who borrowed my garments, every one,
    For h...

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The Australian Stockman

The sun peers oer you wooded ridge and thro the forest dense,
Its golden edge oer the mountain ledge looks down on the stockyard fence,
Looks down, looks down, looks down on the stockyard fence;
And dark creeks rush thro the tangled brush, when their shuddering shadows throng
Until they chime in the rude rough rhyme of the wild goburras song.

                                    Chorus

    Till they chime, ha! ha! till they chime, ha! ha! in the wild goburras song;
    Till they chime, ha! ha! till they chime, ha! ha! in the wild goburras song.

The night owl to her home hath fled, to shun the glorious pomp
Of golden day she speeds away to her nest in the tea-tree swamp;
Away, away to her nest in the tea-tree swamp.

The dingo looks with a timid stare as he...

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Sunny New South Wales

We often hear men boast about the land which gave them birth,
And each one thinks his native land the fairest spot on earth;
In beauty, riches, power, no land can his surpass;
To his, all other lands on earth cannot even hold a glass.
Now, if other people have their boasts, then, say, why should not we,
For we can drink our jovial toast and sing with three times three;
For theres not a country in the world where all thats fair prevails
As here it does in this our land, our sunny New South Wales.

                                    Chorus

    Then toast with me our happy land,
        Where all thats fair prevails,
    Our colours blue and our hearts are true,
        In sunny New South Wales.

Now let us take a passing glance at all that we possess.

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An Answer to Various Bards

Well, I've waited mighty patient while they all came rolling in,
Mister Lawson, Mister Dyson, and the others of their kin,
With their dreadful, dismal stories of the Overlander's camp,
How his fire is always smoky, and his boots are always damp;
And they paint it so terrific it would fill one's soul with gloom,
But you know they're fond of writing about "corpses" and "the tomb".
So, before they curse the bushland, they should let their fancy range,
And take something for their livers, and be cheerful for a change.
Now, for instance, Mr Lawson, well, of course, we almost cried
At the sorrowful description how his "little 'Arvie" died,
And we lachrymosed in silence when "His Father's mate" was slain;
Then he went and killed the father, and we had to weep again.
Ben Duggan and Jack ...

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In Defence Of The Bush

So you're back from up the country, Mister Lawson, where you went,
And you're cursing all the business in a bitter discontent;
Well, we grieve to disappoint you, and it makes us sad to hear
That it wasn't cool and shady, and there wasn't whips of beer,
And the looney bullock snorted when you first came into view,
Well, you know it's not so often that he sees a swell like you;
And the roads were hot and dusty, and the plains were burnt and brown,
And no doubt you're better suited drinking lemon-squash in town.
Yet, perchance, if you should journey down the very track you went
In a month or two at furthest, you would wonder what it meant;
Where the sunbaked earth was gasping like a creature in itts pain
You would find the grasses waving like a field of summer grain,
And the miles o...

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The Murrumbidgee Shearer

Come, all you jolly natives, and Ill relate to you
Some of my observationsadventures, too, a few.
Ive travelled about the country for miles, full many a score,
And oft-times would have hungered, but for the cheek I bore.

Ive coasted on the Barwonlow down the Darling, too,
Ive been on the Murrumbidgee, and out on the Paroo;
Ive been on all the diggings, boys, from famous Ballarat;
Ive loafed upon the Lachlan and fossicked Lambing Flat.

I went up to a squatter, and asked him for a feed,
But the knowledge of my hunger was swallowed by his greed.
He said I was a loafer and for work had no desire,
And so, to do him justice, I set his shed on fire.

Oh, yes, Ive touched the shepherds hut, of sugar, tea, and flour;
And a tender bit of mutton I always coul...

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