Now settle you down, and I won’t be long,
I’m trying to do my best;
I’m singin’ a sort of a kind of a song
To men in the weary West.
I’m not too good, but I ain’t too slow
At slingin’ a jinglin’ rhyme;
But each of us,
All of us,
Big and the small of us,
Large and the little, and short and the tall of us
Look for a break in
The workin’ and wakin’—
Especially Christmas Time!
They say you’re rough in the weary West,
And your cheeks are tanned and dark,
But I never could see that a man was best
With the style of a barber’s clerk!
The dudes and mashers are much the same
In every land and clime;
But some of us,
Most of us,
Pretty fair host of us,
Gather and honour the ‘Stralian toast of us—
“Mulga and Wattle!”
And empty a bottle—
Especially Christmas Time!
Well, here’s good luck to the Western fold!
May your courage never be dead
Till you stick your pick in a nugget of gold
As big as a statesman’s head!
As big as his head, but not so thick—
For greed is a dreadful crime!
So blowers or tailers,
Though Gropers or Walers,
Or pearl-fishing jokers who think you are sailors,
Just up with the bottle
To “Mulga and Wattle!
Australia Every Time!”
