While The Billy BoilsSearchPaddy Rooke was the boss o' the shearin' shed, 'E was sinewy, straight and tall;While I was employed as the shearers' cook, And was skinny and plain and small.It wasn't my fault that the meat was tough, An' the tar got inter the stoo;Yet 'e kicked me the length o' the shearin' shed, An' 'e walloped me black and blue. An' I brooded on my wrong, An' I cursed both loud an' strong,An' I felt that Life was nothing but a sham; An' I wished that I was 'e, Or that Paddy Rooke was me,An' I railed at Fate, wot made me wot I am.
Tilly Brady, she lived at the 'Arf-way 'Ouse, An' a plum of a gal was she;An' I seen 'er tip Paddy a hartful wink As she sugared and milked 'is tea.Then 'e jined the “Horstralian Mounted 'Orse,” With a uniform like a toff,An' 'e went to the wars to fight the Boers, And she went to see 'im off. An' I watched 'er pipe 'er eye As they kissed an' said, “Good-bye,”An' I felt that all the world was only sham. An' I wished that I was 'e, Or that Paddy Rooke was me,An' I moaned the Fate wot made me wot I am.
But Paddy got 'it with a cannon-ball, And it scrunched up 'is bloomin' bones;An' they laid 'im out on the starry veldt, An' they covered 'im up with stones,While I got spliced to the Brady gal; But she turned out a blinded sell,For she's always a-wishin' that I was 'e, Till I wishes 'em both in - well - In a place both 'ot an' deep; For I sit an' groan an' weep,And I still think all the world's a rotten sham; An' I wishes I was 'e, An' that Paddy Rooke was me,An' I cuss my Fate, wot made me wot I am.