A Word From The Bards

It is New Years Day and I rise to state that here on the Sydney side     The Bards have commenced to fill out of late and theyre showing their binjies with pride     Theyre patting their binjies with pride, old man, and I want you to understand,     That a binjied bard is a bard indeed when he sings in the Southern Land,     Old chaps,     When he sings in the Southern Land.     For the Southern Land is the Poets Home, and over the worlds wide roam,     There was never till now a binjied bard that lived in a poets home, old man;     For the poets home was a hell on earth, and I want you to understand,     That it isnt exactly a paradise down here in the Southern Land,     Old chap,     Down here in the Southern Land.     The Beer and the Bailiff were gone last night and the temple doorstep clean,     And our heads are clear and our hearts are light with wine from the Riverine,     With wine from the Riverine, old man, and I want you to understand     That Bard, Beer and Bailiff too long were kin down here in the Southern Land,     Old man,     Down here in the Southern Land.     It is not because of a larger fee, nor yet that the bards are free,     For the bards I know and the bards I see are married enough for three;     Are married enough for three, old man, and I want you to understand,     Theyve a right to be married enough for four, down here in the Southern Land,     My girl,     Down here in the Southern Land.     But I think its because a bird went round and twittered in ears of men     That bards have care and the world seems bare as seen from the rhyming den,     And twittered in ears of men, old chaps, and got folks to understand     That a poet is something more than a joke down here in the Southern Land,     Old man,     Down here in the Southern Land.