Yeah, it’s all right for you fellas that only come out in the bush for a holiday. But when you live in it all the time like me, it’s something of a different colour, eh?!
Fordin’ the rivers all day! Bashin’ through the scrub. Livin’ on de-hy-drated vegetables. It’s pretty hard yakka I can tell ya. My motto’s always been: “For the first week, take it easy. And after that, slackin’ off! But’cha can’t win! If you don’t get out of the sack in the morning, you’ll starve! And if you do get out, you gotta cook yer breakfast. And after breakfast, ya gotta go an’ get more wood. And then it’s time to cook lunch!
Work, work work!
In a little ole shack,
In a valley so drear,
A bushman lay dying, his callers stood near
He raised his grey head,
With a tear in his eye,
And said these last words with a sigh
Ohhh, I’ve had to work bloomin’ hard all me life
Sixty long years full of travel and strife,
Don’t weep for me now,
And mourn for me never,
For I’m going to do nothing for ever and ever
I’m going to do nothing for ever and ever
They carted him off,
On the back of a dray,
And buried him down where the wild deer play
And on an old tree-fern that waved o’er his head,
They nailed up a board that said:
Ohhh, he’s never done a day’s work in his life,
Sixty long years did he sponge on his wife,
Don’t weep for him now,
And mourn for him never,
For he’s going to do nothing for ever and ever,
He’s going to do nothing for ever and ever.