The Stringy-Bark Cockatoo

Im a broken-hearted miner, who loves his cup to drain,
Which often times has caused me to lie in frost and rain.
Roaming about the country, looking for some work to do,
I got a job of reaping off a stringy-bark cockatoo.

                                    Chorus

    Oh, the stringy-bark cockatoo,
    Oh, the stringy-bark cockatoo,
    I got a job of reaping off a stringy-bark cockatoo.

Ten bob an acre was his pricewith promise of fairish board.
He said his crops were very light, twas all he could afford.
He drove me out in a bullock dray, and his piggery met my view.
Oh, the pigs and geese were in the wheat of the stringy-bark cockatoo.

    Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.

The hut was made of the surface mud, the roof of a reedy thatch.
The doors and windows open flew without a bolt or latch.
The pigs and geese were in the hut, the hen on the table flew,
And she laid an egg in the old tin plate for the stringy-bark cockatoo.

    Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.

For breakfast we had pollard, boys, it tasted like cobblers paste.
To help it down we had to eat brown bread with vinegar taste.
The tea was made of the native hops, which out on the ranges grew;
Twas sweetened with honey bees and wax for the stringy-bark cockatoo.

    Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.

For dinner we had goanna hash, we thought it mighty hard;
They wouldnt give us butter, so we forced down bread and lard.
Quondong duff, paddy-melon pie, and wallaby Irish stew
We used to eat while reaping for the stringy-bark cockatoo.

    Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.

When we started to cut the rust and smut was just beginning to shed,
And all we had to sleep on was a dog and sheep-skin bed.
The bugs and fleas tormented me, they made me scratch and screw;
I lost my rest while reaping for the stringy-bark cockatoo.

    Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &c.

At night when work was over Id nurse the youngest child,
And when Id say a joking word, the mother would laugh and smile.
The old cocky, he grew jealous, and he thumped me black and blue,
And he drove me off without a rapthe stringy-bark cockatoo.

    Chorus: Oh, the stringy-bark, &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.

Andrew Barton Paterson

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Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Old Bark Hut

Oh, my name is Bob the Swagman, before you all I stand,
And Ive had many ups and downs while travelling through the land.
I once was well-to-do, my boys, but now I am stumped up,
And Im forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.

                                    Chorus

            In an old bark hut.    In an old bark hut.
            Im forced to go on rations in an old bark hut.

Ten pounds of flour, ten pounds of beef, some sugar and some tea,
Thats all they give to a hungry man, until the Seventh Day.
If you dont be moighty sparing, youll go with a hungry gut
For thats one of the great misfortunes in an old bark hut.

                                    Chorus

            In an old bark hut. In an old bark hut.
            For that...

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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...

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The Australian Stockman

The sun peers oer you wooded ridge and thro the forest dense,
Its golden edge oer the mountain ledge looks down on the stockyard fence,
Looks down, looks down, looks down on the stockyard fence;
And dark creeks rush thro the tangled brush, when their shuddering shadows throng
Until they chime in the rude rough rhyme of the wild goburras song.

                                    Chorus

    Till they chime, ha! ha! till they chime, ha! ha! in the wild goburras song;
    Till they chime, ha! ha! till they chime, ha! ha! in the wild goburras song.

The night owl to her home hath fled, to shun the glorious pomp
Of golden day she speeds away to her nest in the tea-tree swamp;
Away, away to her nest in the tea-tree swamp.

The dingo looks with a timid stare as he...

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White Cockatoos

Now the autumn maize is growing,
Now the corn-cob fills,
Where the Little River flowing
Winds among the hills.
Over mountain peaks outlying
Clear against the blue
Comes a scout in silence flying,
One white cockatoo.

Back he goes to where the meeting
Waits among the trees.
Says, "The corn is fit for eating;
Hurry, if you please."
Skirmishers, their line extending,
Shout the joyful news;
Down they drop like snow descending,
Clouds of cockatoos.

At their husking competition
Hear them screech and yell.
On a gum tree's high position
Sits a sentinel.
Soon the boss goes boundary riding;
But the wise old bird,
Mute among the branches hiding,
Never says a word.

Then you hear the strident squalling:
"Here's ...

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The Broken-Down Squatter

    (Air: Its a fine hunting day.)


Come, Stumpy, old man, we must shift while we can;
    All our mates in the paddock are dead.
Let us wave our farewells to Glen Evas sweet dells
    And the hills where your lordship was bred;
Together to roam from our drought-stricken home
    It seems hard that such things have to be,
And its hard on a hogs when hes nought for a boss
    But a broken-down squatter like me!

                                        Chorus

    For the banks are all broken, they say,
        And the merchants are all up a tree.
    When the bigwigs are brought to the Bankruptcy Court,
        What chance for a squatter like me.

No more shall we muster the river for fats,
    Or spiel on the Fifteen-mile plain,

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The Squatter Of The Olden Time

    (Air: A fine old English gentleman.)


Ill sing to you a fine new song, made by my blessed mate,
Of a fine Australian squatter who had a fine estate,
Who swore by right pre-emptive at a sanguinary rate
That by his rams, his ewes, his lambs, Australia was made great
    Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.

His hut around was hung with guns, whips, spurs, and boots and shoes,
And kettles and tin pannikins to hold the tea he brews;
And here his worship lolls at ease and takes his smoke and snooze,
And quaffs his cup of hysouskin, the beverage old chums choose
    Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.

And when shearing time approaches he opens hut to all,
And though ten thousand are his flocks, he featly shears them ...

Andrew Barton Paterson