While The Billy BoilsSearchI’ve left the stuffy city,Where my nerves have had a jar,Through the hustle and the bustle,Till I dunno where I are.I’m tramping in the open,Just for freedom and a blow,Where no coppers guard the corner,On the road to Bangalow.
The Richmond hills are bonny,And are worthy of a “boost,”And we ought to crow our loudest,Like the rooster on his roost.I’ve seen them in the dawning,And at sunset’s ruddy glow,Where the kookaburra chuckles,On the road to Bangalow.
There’s the ibis in the rushes,And the blue cranes at the pool,And the kiddies on their ponies,All a-coming home from school.The corn is getting riper,While the pigs and poddies grow,There’s money in the milkers,On the road to Bangalow.
May the river go on flowing,Just below the banker line,And the grass all keep as green as wheat,Away out Narromine!Now I’m going to have a snifter,With a cobber that I know,And toast the lads and lassies,On the road to Bangalow.
It’s not a Jimmy Woodser’Cause I’ve got me cobber here,And we’ll have another snifterJust to toast the Pioneer.We’ll drink this with our hats off,’Cause we wouldn’t like to goAnd forget the Digger’s father,On the road to Bangalow.