The Dryblower

After Kipling (about 3 miles.)

Yes, I've 'umped that bloomin' shaker

From th' Cross to Marble Bar,

An' I've sampled all the rushes in atween;

But me luck's enough ter make a Bleedin' sinner of a Quaker,

For it's little mor'n tucker stuff I've seen.


But it's rattle, shake and rattle;

Bang th' jigger to an' fro;

We must push along 'nd battle Fer our daily bit o' dough—

Oh, Gawd, th' dust!

Hell, what a thust!

But we'll shake our bloomin' livers out before we cry a go.


When the shaker's woods a-shrinkin'

And th' shovel's 'ot as 'ell,

And th' sand's a-raising blisters thro' me boots,

Then I feels me 'eart a-sinkin',

And I finds meself a-thinkin'

That th' fellers comin' Westward is galoots.


Yes, I think your 'eart'd fail yer,

That's if you was kinder soft,

Havin' loafed about a city since a kid,

To be shunted to Westralyer—

If yer stopped they'd sure ter jail yer—

And go blowin' fer th' nuggets like I did.

With th' sweating' 'nd th' bakin'

From th' time th' sun gits up Till 'e sinks below th' plain all bloody red,

With th' pushin' 'nd th' shakin' With yer arms 'nd legs a-achin'—

It's enough ter make yer wish as yer was dead.


But it ain't no use a kickin' And a-cursin' ain't no good—

When th' tucker bag is empty there's no rest—

So it's just a case o' stickin'

Ter th' shovelin' 'nd th' pickin'—

And a-trustin' Gawd A'mighty fer th' best.

So it's rattle, shake 'nd rattle,

Bang th' jigger to 'nd fro;

We must push along 'nd battle Fer our daily bit o' dough—

Oh, Gawd, th' dust!

Hell, what a thust!

But we'll shake our bloomin' livers out afore we cry a go!


A VICTIM.

Coolgardie, W.A.


Published in Critic, (Adelaide), 1 April 1899, p14



From "Twentieth Century Impressions", Thiel & Co, Perth, 1901

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