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 himself in the bush of Australia.

                            Chorus

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

Sydney town I reached at last,
And now, thinks I, all dangers past,
And I shall make my fortune fast
    In this promising land of Australia.
I quickly went with cash in hand,
Upon the map I chose my land.
When I got there twas barren sand
    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.

Of sheep I got a famous lot.
Some died of hunger, some of rot,
For the devil a drop of rain they got,
    In this flourishing land of Australia.
My convict men were always drunk,
They kept me in a constant funk.
Says I to myself, as to bed I slunk,
    How I wish I was out of Australia!

                            Chorus

            Booligal, Gobarralong,
            Emu Flat and Jugiong.
    If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
    Then go to the bush of Australia.

Of ills, enough Ive had youll own.
And then at last, my woes to crown,
One night my log house was blown down
    That settled us all in Australia
And now of home and all bereft,
The horrid spot I quickly left,
Making it over by deed of gift
    To the savages of Australia.

                            Chorus

            Booligal, Gobarralong,
            Emu Flat and Jugiong.
    If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
    Then go to the bush of Australia

I gladly worked my passage home,
And now to England back Ive come,
Determined never more to roam,
    At least, to the bush of Australia.
And stones upon the road Ill break,
And earn my seven bob a week,
Which is surely better than the freak
    Of settling down in Australia.

                            Chorus

            Currabubula, Bogolong,
            Ulladulla, Gerringong.
    If you wouldnt become an ourang-outang,
    Dont go to the bush of Australia.

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

The Seven Ages of Wise

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Premier And The Socialist

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

Flying Squirrels

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

That Half-Crown Sweep

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

English

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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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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 ...

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

Borderland

Opening salvo in "The Bush Controversy".



I am back from up the country, very sorry that I went,
Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent;
I have lost a lot of idols, which were broken on the track,
Burnt a lot of fancy verses, and I'm glad that I am back.
Further out may be the pleasant scenes of which our poets boast,
But I think the country's rather more inviting round the coast,
Anyway, I'll stay at present at a boarding-house in town
Drinking beer and lemon-squashes, taking baths and cooling down.

Sunny plains! Great Scot!, those burning wastes of barren soil and sand
With their everlasting fences stretching out across the land!
Desolation where the crow is! Desert! where the eagle flies,
Paddocks where the luny bullock starts and ...

Henry Lawson

The City Bushman

It was pleasant up the country, Mr. Banjo, where you went,
For you sought the greener patches and you travelled like a gent;
And you curse the trams and buses and the turmoil and the push,
Though you know the squalid city needn't keep you from the bush;
But we lately heard you singing of the `plains where shade is not',
And you mentioned it was dusty, `all was dry and all was hot'.

True, the bush `hath moods and changes', and the bushman hath 'em, too,
For he's not a poet's dummy, he's a man, the same as you;
But his back is growing rounder, slaving for the absentee,
And his toiling wife is thinner than a country wife should be.
For we noticed that the faces of the folks we chanced to meet
Should have made a greater contrast to the faces in the street;
And, in short, we thi...

Henry Lawson

In Answer To "Banjo," And Otherwise. (The City Bushman)

Part of "The Bush Controversy".


It was pleasant up the country, Mr. Banjo, where you went,
For you sought the greener patches and you travelled like a gent.,
And you curse the trains and 'busses and the turmoil and the "push,"
Tho' you know the "squalid city" needn't keep you from the bush;
But we lately heard you singing of the "plains where shade is not,"
And you mentioned it was dusty, "all is dry and all is hot."

True, the bush "hath moods and changes," and the bushman hath 'em, too,
For he's not a poet's dummy, he's a man, the same as you;
But his back is growing rounder - slaving for the "absentee",
And his toiling wife is thinner than a country wife should be,
For he noticed that the faces of the folks we chanerd to meet
Should have made a greater contras...

Henry Lawson