Three Songs for Monaro Pubs

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FULL AS A BOOT

Full as a boot, lad, full as a boot:
Well, Christ, why shouldn’t I be?
That barmaid there, she’s a piece of fruit …
(Make it rum and cloves for me!)

Full as a boot; but when I was young
They christened me Nevertire Jack.
Rum and cloves and you’ld never go wrong
To lay that piece on her back.

Down with her bottom; up with her heels;
Tackle her tit-for-tat.
Never you mind if she bucks or squeals:
All the better for that!

Never you mind, that’s my advice;
Give her one on the floor;
Rum and cloves to her sugar and spice:
She’ll tear you apart for more.

I’ve shore at The Rock, I’ve roused at Condobolin,
I’ve rabbited up around Parkes,
And wherever I camped them girls come nosin’
Nosin’ around like sharks.

It was: No, Jack, no; I promised me mother!
Or: Geez, you’re a bastard, Jack!
But have it your own way, have it the other,
She’ld end up flat on her back.

One girl, I left her in Gerringong,
One up by Capertee;
But that little honey at Cuppacumbalong,
She up and she left me.

Oh, she up and she left me there horn mad;
She up and left me flat.
The best bloody woman that ever I had,
To do a thing like that!

NO KIDDING!

Back at the pub in Nimmitabel
Back from a spell out west,
Who should I meet but my sweetheart Nell
Giving her babe the breast.

So there you are, my randy-jack
So it’s you, my no-good honey!
Where have you been, and now you’re back
Say, what do you use for money?

Oh, I’ve gone straight this whole long year,
Up north in Narrabri,
Without a word of a lie, my dear;
Without a word of a lie.

But where did he come from, this little nip?
Say, where did you find young blossom?
Oh, I got him out of a lucky-dip,
While you was playin’ possum.

He came to me straight from heaven above;
He came from the bright, blue sky.
Without a word of a lie, my love;
Without a word of a lie.

SHE’LL BE JAKE

Jesus, what’s got into Jock?
When I asks him, how is tricks,
Bloody nearly done his block;
Comes down like a load of bricks.
What, that piece from Eucumbene,
No, for Chris’sake,
Chucked him, has she? — Well, I mean,
She’ll be jake.

Girls, they always back and fill,
Saying ‘no’ and meaning ‘yes’.
Christ, have I been through the mill!
Might of married one, I guess.
Yeah, I could of too, by God!
But, for Chris’sake,
Give’s a hand with this poor sod;
She’ll be jake.

Ar, there, Jocko! I just heard:
Shot through, did she? Lucky youse!
Get yourself another bird,
That’s the shot, mate: what’s the use
Crying in your bloody beer?
Well, for Chris’sake,
She’ll be jake, mate, never fear,
She’ll be jake!

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