Mulligan's Shanty
Things is just the same as ever
On the outer Never-Never,
And you look to find the stock of liquor scanty,
But we found things worse than ordin'ry,
And in fact a bit extraordin'ry
When myself and Bill the Pinker struck the shanty.
'Shanty,' says you. 'What shanty?'
Why, Mulligan's shanty.
I says 'Whisky'; Bill says 'Brandy';
But there wasn't either handy,
For the boss was out of liquor in that line.
'Well, I'll try a rum,' says Billy.
'Got no rum,' he answers, chilly,
'But I'll recommend a decent drop o' tine.'
'Tine?' says Bill; 'what tine?'
'Why, turpentine!'
'Blow me blue!' says Bill the Pinker,
'Can't yer give us a deep-sinker?
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poem by William Thomas Goodge
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A Matter of Knack
Jock M'Pherson was a person who was boastful in conversin',
But respectable and ponderous and dignified withal!
Con M'Carty was a party who was something of a smarty,
And beside the big M'Pherson looked particularly small;
But Cornelius M'Carty, he was artful, after all!
When Cornelius M'Carty thought M'Pherson was his dart, he
Made a wager he could carry him a mile along the track;
Which, considering M'Pherson was a very weighty person,
Was a risky undertaking for M'Carty's little back.
But Cornelius protested it depended on the knack!
"Take yer coat off!" called M'Carty, and M'Pherson gave a start, he
Hadn't bargained for proceedings the reverse of dignified!
But he felt he had the best of the arrangement. "Take yer vest off!"
Said M'Carty; and M'Pherson very graciously complied.
It was in the private parlor, and the crowd was all outside.
"Take yer boots off!" said M'Carty in a cheerful tone and hearty,
But M'Pherson he objected that the crowd would see his toes.
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poem by William Thomas Goodge
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How we drove the Trotter
Oh, he was a handsome trotter, and he couldn't be completer,
He had such a splendid action and he trotted to this metre,
Such a pace and such a courage, such a record-killing power,
That he did his mile in two-fifteen, his twenty in the hour.
When he trotted on the Bathurst road the pace it was a panter,
But he broke the poet's rhythm when he broke out in a canter -
As we were remarking the pace was a panter,
But just as we liked it he broke in a canter,
And rattled along with a motion terrific,
And scattered the sparks with a freedom prolific;
He tugged at the bit and he jerked at the bridle,
We pulled like a demon, the effort was idle,
The bit in his teeth and the rein in the crupper,
We didn't much care to get home to our supper.
Then we went
Like the wind,
And our hands
They were skinned,
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poem by William Thomas Goodge
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King Whiskey
King Whishey's father down in Hell,
He rubbed his hands with glee,
'My son on earth is doing well,
Extremely well,' said he;
'Pile up the logs upon the blaze
And let the furnace roar,
Another batch of Whiskey's slaves
Is hammering at the door.'
The flames shot up a brilliant red,
The grid was white with heat,
A basting pot of boiling lead
Was placed on every seat.
'Ha, ha,' said Satan, 'this is neat;
We have no cause to fear
That they'll complain they did not meet
A warm reception here.'
King Whiskey sat upon his throne,
His courtiers standing round,
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poem by William Thomas Goodge
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The Guile of Dad M'Ginnis
When M,Ginnis struck the mining camp at Jamberoora Creek
His behaviour was appreciated highly;
For, although he was a quiet man, in manner mild and meek,
Not like ordinary swagmen with a monumental cheek,
He became the admiration of the camp along the creek
'Cause he showed a point to Kangaroobie Riley!
Both the pubs at Jamberoora had some grog that stood the test
(Not to speak of what was manufactured slyly!)
And the hostel of O'Gorman, which was called The Diggers' Rest,
Was, O'Gorman said, the finest house of any in the west;
But it was a burning question if it really was the best,
Or the "Miners" - kept by Kangaroobie Riley.
Dad M'Ginnis called at Riley's. Said he "felt a trifle queer",
And with something like a wan and weary smile, he
Said he "thought he'd try a whisky". Pushed it back and said, "I fear
I had better take a brandy." Passed that back and said: "Look here,
Take the brandy; after all, I think I'll have a pint of beer!"
And he drank the health of Kangaroobie Riley!
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poem by William Thomas Goodge
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The Australian Slanguage
"Tis the everyday Australian
Has a language of his own,
Has a language, or a slanguage,
Which can simply stand alone.
And a "dickon pitch to kid us"
Is a synonym for "lie",
And to "nark it" means to stop it,
And to "nit it" means to fly.
And a bosom friend's a "cobber,"
And a horse a "prad" or "moke,"
While a casual acquaintance
Is a "joker" or a "bloke."
And his lady-love's his "donah"
or his "clinah" or his "tart"
Or his "little bit o' muslin,"
As it used to be his "bart."
And his naming of the coinage
Is a mystery to some,
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poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Australia's Pride
Now Pat Ahearne, of Ingleburn
Upon the Castlereagh,
Was flush of cash and very "flash"
As shearer-persons say.
At Yankee grab his luck was cool,
At loo he'd lately scooped the pool;
He'd simply smashed the two-up school -
[Assisted by a "grey!"]
And Pat grew then like other men,
His head began to swell;
As he was fly he thought he'd try
The Sydney folks as well.
"Their chances would be mighty slim
Of working any points on him,
When Euchre Bill and Ginger Jim
Had found he was a sell!"
But bushmen's games are not the games
That Sydney spielers play;
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poem by William Thomas Goodge
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