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,     Or rip through the scrub by the light of the moon,         Or see the old stockyard again.     Leave the slip-panels down, it wont matter much now,         There are none but the crows left to see,     Perching gaunt in yon pine, as though longing to dine         On a broken-down squatter like me.          Chorus: For the banks, &c.     When the country was cursed with the drought at its worst,         And the cattle were dying in scores,     Though down on my luck, I kept up my pluck,         Thinking justice might temper the laws.     But the farce has been played, and the Government aid         Aint extended to squatters, old son;     When my dollars were spent they doubled the rent,         And resumed the best half of the run.          Chorus: For the banks, &c.     Twas done without reason, for leaving the season         No squatter could stand such a rub;     For its useless to squat when the rents are so hot         That one cant save the price of ones grub;     And theres not much to choose twixt the banks and the Jews         Once a fellow gets put up a tree;     No odds what I feel, theres no court of appeal         For a broken-down squatter like me.          Chorus: For the banks, &c.