While The Billy BoilsSearchThere were ten little Steps and Stairs.Round through the old bush home all dayRomping about in the old bush way.They were ten little wild March hares,Storming the kitchen in hungry lines,With their naked feet, doing mud designs,“All over the place like punkin vines.”There were ten little Steps and Stairs.
There were ten little Steps and Stairs.In their home-made frocks and their Sunday suits,Up through the church with their squeaky boots,While the folk went astray in their prayers,They hustled along, all dressed and neat—Oh, they bustled a bit as they filled the seat;From the first to the last, the lot complete.There were ten little Steps and Stairs.
There were ten little Steps and Stairs.But the years have shuffled them all about,Have worn them thin, and straightened them outWith the tramp of a hundred cares;Ay, and each grim scar has a tale to tellOf a knock and a blow and a hand that fell,And a break in the line, and a gap. Ah, well—There were ten little Steps and Stairs.