While The Billy BoilsSearchI'm what they call a “solid man,” I've made a decent pile; So I brought my folks to London, And we've settled down in style. We wear clothes that don't quite suit us, Go to balls, and shows, and plays, And we're striking out for happiness In various kinds of ways.But a Voice keeps on calling me backTo the bush and the wallaby-track, To the home in the clearing, The sheep and the shearing -The voice keeps on saying, “Come back!”
We're living in Belgravia, In the midst of Fashion's whirl; On my left there lives a marquis, And right opposite an earl. We've a carriage and a coachman, And a footman dressed in plush, Whose calves stick out so prominent They make my daughters blush.But the Voice keeps on saying, “Come backTo the bush and the wallaby-track, Where the bright sun is glowing And cattle are lowing,Come back to your freedom, come back!”
My wife she holds “receptions,” While my daughters study “art,” And my son he drives a tandem, Though his father drove a cart. We have dinner in the evening, And we always dress to dine; We eat strange food with foreign names, And wash it down with wine.Yet, the Voice keeps on calling me backTo the bush and the wallaby-track, Where the wool-bales are packing, And stockwhips are cracking,It whispers for ever - “Come back!”
And the voice keeps calling, calling
Till I see the iron-bark ridge, Till I scent the gum-logs burning In the gully near the bridge; I can hear the teamsters swearing As they drive the bullock-dray, And my spirit's branding cattle In the paddocks far away.And the Voice keeps on saying, “Come backTo the bush and the wallaby-track!” To the parrots and 'possums And sweet wattle-blossoms,It keeps on inviting me back.
And my heart seems crushed and stifled 'Mid the teeming city's push, And my eager soul is panting For the freedom of the bush; And I feel that though I wander Where illustrious feet have trod, I'm near the world's great throbbing heart, But I'm not so close to God.And the Voice keeps on saying, “Come backTo the bush and the wallaby-track - To the bush, with its sadness, Its grandeur and gladness,Its space and its freedom. Come back!”