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 morning I set out
    When the grass was green and young;
And they swore theyd break my snout
    If I did not move along.
I said, Youre very hard;
    Take care, dont raise my dander,
For Im a regular knowing card,
    The Queensland overlander.

Tis true we pay no license,
    And our run is rather large;
Tis not often they can catch us,
    So they cannot make a charge.
They think we live on store beef,
    But no, Im not a gander;
When a good fat stranger joins the mob,
    Hell do, says the overlander.

One day a squatter rode up.
    Says he, Youre on my run;
Ive got two boys as witnesses.
    Consider your stock in pound.

I tried to coax, then bounce him,
    But my tin I had to squander,
For he put threepence a head
    On the mob of the overlander.

The pretty girls in Brisbane
    Were hanging out their duds.
I wished to have a chat with them,
    So steered straight for the tubs.
Some dirty urchins saw me,
    And soon they raised my dander,
Crying, Mother, quick! take in the clothes,
    Here comes an overlander!

In town we drain the wine cup,
    And go to see the play,
And never think to be hard up
    For how to pass the day.
Each has a sweetheart there,
    Dressed out in all her grandeur
Dark eyes and jet black flowing hair.
    Shes a plum, says the overlander.

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

Johnson's Antidote

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Wreck Of The Golfer

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Flying Gang

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Great Calamity

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Billy-Goat Overland

Come all ye lads of the droving days, ye gentlemen unafraid,
I'll tell you all of the greatest trip that ever a drover made,
For we rolled our swags, and we packed our bags, and taking our lives in hand,
We started away with a thousand goats, on the billy-goat overland.

There wasn't a fence that'd hold the mob, or keep 'em from their desires;
They skipped along the top of the posts and cake-walked on the wires.
And where the lanes had been stripped of grass and the paddocks were nice and green,
The goats they travelled outside the lanes and we rode in between.

The squatters started to drive them back, but that was no good at all,
Their horses ran for the lick of their lives from the scent that was like a wall:
And never a dog had pluck or gall in front of the mob to stand
...

Andrew Barton Paterson

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

Old Australian Ways

The London lights are far abeam
Behind a bank of cloud,
Along the shore the gaslights gleam,
The gale is piping loud;
And down the Channel, groping blind,
We drive her through the haze
Towards the land we left behind,
The good old land of "never mind",
And old Australian ways.

The narrow ways of English folk
Are not for such as we;
They bear the long-accustomed yoke
Of staid conservancy:
But all our roads are new and strange,
And through our blood there runs
The vagabonding love of change
That drove us westward of the range
And westward of the suns.

The city folk go to and fro
Behind a prison's bars,
They never feel the breezes blow
And never see the stars;
They never hear in blossomed trees
The music low and swee...

Andrew Barton Paterson

The Old Australian Ways

The London lights are far abeam
Behind a bank of cloud,
Along the shore the gaslights gleam,
The gale is piping loud;
And down the Channel, groping blind,
We drive her through the haze
Towards the land we left behind,
The good old land of `never mind',
And old Australian ways.

The narrow ways of English folk
Are not for such as we;
They bear the long-accustomed yoke
Of staid conservancy:
But all our roads are new and strange,
And through our blood there runs
The vagabonding love of change
That drove us westward of the range
And westward of the suns.

The city folk go to and fro
Behind a prison's bars,
They never feel the breezes blow
And never see the stars;
They never hear in blossomed trees
The music low and swee...

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

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