The Old Bullock Dray

Oh! the shearing is all over,         And the wool is coming down,     And I mean to get a wife, boys,         When I go up to town.     Everything that has two legs         Represents itself in view,     From the little paddy-melon         To the bucking kangaroo.                             CHORUS          So its roll up your blankets,              And lets make a push,          Ill take you up the country,              And show you the bush.          Ill be bound you wont get              Such a chance another day,          So come and take possession              Of my old bullock dray.     Now, Ive saved up a good cheque,         I mean to buy a team,     And when I get a wife, boys,         Ill be all-serene     For calling at the dept.         They say theres no delay     To get an off-sider         For the old bullock dray.     Oh! well live like fighting cocks,         For good living, Im your man.     Well have leather jacks, johnny cakes,         And fritters in the pan;     Or if youd like some fish         Ill catch you some soon,     For well bob for barramundies         Round the banks of a lagoon.     Oh! yes, of beef and damper         I take care we have enough,     And well boil in the bucket         Such a whopper of a duff,     And our friends will dance         To the honour of the day,     To the music of the bells,         Around the old bullock dray.     Oh! well have plenty girls,         We must mind that.     Therell be flash little Maggie,         And buckjumping Pat.     Therell be Stringy bark Joe,         And Green-hide Mike.     Yes, my Colonials, just         As many as you like.     Now well stop all immigration,         We wont need it any more;     Well be having young natives,         Twins by the score.     And I wonder what the devil         Jack Robertson would say     If he saw us promenading         Round the old bullock dray.     Oh! its time I had an answer,         If theres one to be had,     I wouldnt treat that steer         In the body half as bad;     But he takes as much notice         Of me, upon my soul,     As that old blue stag         Off-side in the pole.     Oh! to tell a lot of lies,         You know, it is a sin,     But Ill go up country         And marry a black gin.     Oh! Baal gammon white feller,         This is what shell say,     Budgery you         And your old bullock dray.