While The Billy BoilsSearchNow, shearers' cooks, as shearers know,Are very seldom wont to blow;But when I took to dabbing tarAnd “picking up” on Belingar,The cook, when “barbers” came at mornTo get a snack, would say, with scorn:“Tea on the left,Coffee on the right,Brownie on the bunk, and blast yez!”
The “bunk” or slab was in the hut,And on it “brownie” ready cut;Two buckets o'er the fire would be—One filled with coffee, one with tea;And when the chaps came filing inThe cook would say, with mirthless grin:“Tea on the left,Coffee on the right,Brownie on the bunk, and blast yez!”
Peculiar man, this shearers' cook,And had a very ugly look.To me—a new-chum rouseabout,Said he, one day when all were out:“There's nothing in this world, my lad,That's worth your worry, good or bad;Grief on the left,Sorrow on the right,Trouble on the bunk, but blast it!”