Three Songs for Monaro Pubs



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!


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.


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!

Rate this post
Previous articleThe Nomads
Next articleAntechinus


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here