Its Only A Way Hes Got

    (As sung by the camp fire.)


No doubt the sayings all abroad,
    And rattling through the land.
We hear it at the mangle, too,
    With What are you going to stand?
Im sure I dont know which to choose,
    Theres really such a lot
But I hope my song youll not refuse,
    For its only a way Ive 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 youll excuse,
    For its only a way Ive 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,
    Its only a way hes got.

            Chorus: Tol, lol, &c.

Says I, Ill soon catch you, my chap,
    And arter him I flies,
When another stepped up and knocked my hat
    Completely oer my eyes.
He from my pocket drew my purse,
    And off with it did trot;
Says she, Its well it is no worse,
But its only a way hes 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 hed 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,
    Its only a way weve got!

                Chorus: Tol, lol, &c.

I have grown tired of Sydney town
    Since Ive lost all my cash,
And so will up the country go,
    And tell them of my smash.
Oh, then well have such lots of fun,
    Ill court Miss Polly Scott;
And if she asks me what I mean
    Ill tell her its a way Ive got.

                Chorus: Tol, lol, &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 Old Bullock Dray

Oh! the shearing is all over,
    And the wool is coming down,
And I mean to get a wife, boys,
    When I go up to town.
Everything that has two legs
    Represents itself in view,
From the little paddy-melon
    To the bucking kangaroo.

                        CHORUS

    So its roll up your blankets,
        And lets make a push,
    Ill take you up the country,
        And show you the bush.
    Ill be bound you wont get
        Such a chance another day,
    So come and take possession
        Of my old bullock dray.

Now, Ive saved up a good cheque,
    I mean to buy a team,
And when I get a wife, boys,
    Ill be all-serene
For calling at the depôt.
    They say theres no delay
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Billy Barlow In Australia

When I was at home I was down on my luck,
And I earned a poor living by drawing a truck;
But old aunt died, and left me a thousandOh, oh,
Ill start on my travels, said Billy Barlow.
        Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
        So off to Australia came Billy Barlow.

When to Sydney I got, there a merchant I met,
Who said he would teach me a fortune to get;
Hed cattle and sheep past the colonys bounds,
Which he sold with the station for my thousand pounds.
        Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
        He gammond the cash out of Billy Barlow.

When the bargain was struck, and the money was paid,
He said, My dear fellow, your fortune is made;
I can furnish supplies for the station, you know,
And your bill is sufficient, good Mr. Barlow.
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On The Road To Gundagai

Oh, we started down from Roto when the sheds had all cut out.
Wed whips and whips of Rhino as we meant to push about,
So we humped our blues serenely and made for Sydney town,
With a three-spot cheque between us, as wanted knocking down.

                                            Chorus

    But we camped at Lazy Harrys, on the road to Gundagai
    The road to Gundagai!    Not five miles from Gundagai!
    Yes, we camped at Lazy Harrys, on the road to Gundagai.

Well, we struck the Murrumbidgee near the Yanko in a week,
And passed through old Narrandera and crossed the Burnet Creek.
And we never stopped at Wagga, for wed Sydney in our eye.


But we camped at Lazy Harrys, on the road to Gundagai.
    Chorus: But we camped, &c.

Oh, Iv...

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The Overlander

Theres a trade you all know well
    Its bringing cattle over
Ill tell you all about the time
    When I became a drover.
I made up my mind to try the spec,
    To the Clarence I did wander,
And bought a mob of duffers there
    To begin as an overlander.

                            Chorus

    Pass the wine cup round, my boys;
        Dont let the bottle stand there,
    For to-night well drink the health
        Of every overlander.

Next morning counted the cattle
    Saw the outfit ready to start,
Saw all the lads well mounted,
    And their swags put in a cart.

All kinds of men I had
    From France, Germany, and Flanders;
Lawyers, doctors, good and bad,
    In the mob of overlanders.

Next mornin...

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Sam Holt

    (Air: Ben Bolt.)


Oh! dont you remember Black Alice, Sam Holt
    Black Alice, so dusky and dark,
The Warrego gin, with the straw through her nose,
    And teeth like a Moreton Bay shark.

The terrible sheepwash tobacco she smoked
    In the gunyah down there by the lake,
And the grubs that she roasted, and the lizards she stewed,
    And the damper you taught her to bake.

Oh! dont you remember the moons silver sheen,
    And the Warrego sand-ridges white?
And dont you remember those big bull-dog ants
    We caught in our blankets at night?

Oh! dont you remember the creepers, Sam Holt,
    That scattered their fragrance around?
And dont you remember that broken-down colt
    You sold me, and swore he was sound?

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The Freehold On The Plain

    (Air: The Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane.)


Im a broken-down old squatter, my cash it is all gone,
    Of troubles and bad seasons I complain;
My cattle are all mortgaged, of horses I have none,
    And Ive lost that little freehold on the plain.

                                        Chorus

    The stockyards broken down, and the woolsheds tumbling in;
        Ive written to the mortgagees in vain;
    My wool it is all damaged and it is not worth a pin,
        And Ive lost that little freehold on the plain.

I commenced life as a squatter some twenty years ago,
    When fortune followed in my train;
But I speculated heavy and Id have you all to know
    That Ive lost that little freehold on the plain.

    Chorus: The...

Andrew Barton Paterson

Its Only A Way Hes Got

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Its Only A Way Hes Got