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, Ive seen a lot of girls, my boys, and drunk a lot of beer,
And Ive met with some of both, chaps, as has left me mighty queer;
But for beer to knock you sideways, and for girls to make you sigh,
You must camp at Lazy Harrys, on the road to Gundagai.

Well, we chucked our blooming swags off, and we walked into the bar,
And we called for rum-an-raspbry and a shilling each cigar.
But the girl that served the pizen, she winked at Bill and I
And we camped at Lazy Harrys,    not five miles from Gundagai.

In a week the spree was over and the cheque was all knocked down,
So we shouldered our Matildas, and we turned our backs on town,
And the girls they stood a nobbler as we sadly said Good bye,
And we tramped from Lazy Harrys, not five miles from Gundagai;

                    Chorus: And we tramped, &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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The Road to Gundagai

The mountain road goes up and down
From Gundagai to Tumut Town

And, branching off, there runs a track
Across the foothills grim and black,

Across the plains and ranges grey
To Sydney city far away.

* * * * *

It came by chance one day that I
From Tumut rode to Gundagai,

And reached about the evening tide
The crossing where the roads divide;

And, waiting at the crossing place,
I saw a maiden fair of face,

With eyes of deepest violet blue,
And cheeks to match the rose in hue,

The fairest maids Australia knows
Are bred among the mountain snows.

Then, fearing I might go astray,
I asked if she could show the way.

Her voice might well a man bewitch,
Its tones so supple, deep, and rich.

Andrew Barton Paterson

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...

Andrew Barton Paterson

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...

Andrew Barton Paterson

The Maranoa Drovers

    (Air: Little Sally Waters.)


The night is dark and stormy, and the sky is clouded oer;
    Our horses we will mount and ride away,
To watch the squatters cattle through the darkness of the night,
And well keep them on the camp till break of day.

                                    Chorus

    For were going, going, going to Gunnedah so far,
        And well soon be into sunny New South Wales;
    We shall bid farewell to Queensland, with its swampy coolibah
        Happy drovers from the sandy Maranoa.


When the fires are burning bright through the darkness of the night,
    And the cattle camping quiet, well, Im sure
That I wish for two oclock when I call the other watch
    This is droving from the sandy Maranoa.

O...

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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
To get an off-side...

Andrew Barton Paterson

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...

Andrew Barton Paterson