Policeman G.

Air: "Widow McGrath"


To Policeman G. the Inspector said:
"When you pass the 'shops' you must turn your head;
If you took a wager, that would be a sin;
So you'll earn no stripes if you run them in."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!

To the House Committee, the Inspector said:
"'Tis a terrible thing how the gamblers spread,
For they bet on the steeple, and they bet on the Cup,
And the magistrates won't lock them up."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!

But Policeman G., as he walks his beat,
Where ghe gamblers are, up and down the street,
Says he: "What's the use to be talkin' rot,
If they'd make me a sergeant, I could cop the lot!"
With my ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!

"But, begad if you start to suppress the 'shop',
Then the divil only knows where you're going to stop;
For the rich and the poor, they would raise a din,
If at Randwick I ran fifty thousand in."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!

"Though ye must not box, nor shpit, nor bet,
I'll find my way out to Randwick yet;
For I'm shtandin' a pound, and it's no disgrace,
On Paddy Nolan's horse, for the Steeplechase!"
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!

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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Oh, Mulligan's bar was the deuce of a place
To drink, and to fight, and to gamble and race;
The height of choice spirits from near and from far
Were all concentrated on Mulligan's bar.

There was "Jerry the Swell", and the jockey-boy Ned,
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A Disqualified Jockey's Story

You see, the thing was this way, there was me,
That rode Panopply, the Splendor mare,
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And that long bloke from Wagga, him that rode
Veronikew, the Smowy River horse.
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Among the lot, unless the rest fell dead
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How The Favourite Beat Us

"Aye," said the boozer, "I tell you it's true, sir,
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How I stiffened my horse and got stiffened myself.

"'Twas a mare called the Cracker, I came down to back her,
But found she was favourite all of a rush,
The folk just did pour on to lay six to four on,
And several bookies were killed in the crush.

"It seems old Tomato was stiff, though a starter;
They reckoned him fit for the Caulfield to keep.
The Bloke and the Donah were scratched by their owner,
He only was offered three-fourths of the sweep.

"We knew Salamander was slow as a gander,
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An Idyll Of Dandaloo

On Western plains, where shade is not,
'Neath summer skies of cloudless blue,
Where all is dry and all is hot,
There stands the town of Dandaloo,
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Its grass-grown streets with dust are deep;
'Twere vain endeavour to express
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The yearly races mostly drew
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There came a sportsman from the East,
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An Evening In Dandaloo

It was while we held our races,
Hurdles, sprints and steplechases,
Up in Dandaloo,
That a crowd of Sydney stealers,
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Brought some horses, real heelers,
Came and put us through.

Beat our nags and won our money,
Made the game by np means funny,
Made us rather blue;
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Dandaloonies sat and brooded
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*        *            *            *            *

Night came down on Johnson's shanty
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The Wargeilah Handicap

Wargeilah town is very small,
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They hold their own and something more.

The precincts of Wargeilah town
An English new-chum did infest:
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