While The Billy BoilsSearchI'm the monarch of valley, and hill, and plain, And the king of this golden land.A continent broad is my vast domain, And its people at my command.My tribute I levy on high and low, And I chuckle at Fortune's frown;No matter how far in the day I go, I'm at home when the sun goes down.
In the drought-stricken plains of the lone Paroo, When the rainless earth is bare,I take toll from the shepherd and jackeroo, And I sample their humble fare.Not a fig care I though the stock may die, And the sun-cracked plains be brown;I can make for the east, where the grass is high, I'm at home when the sun goes down.
When river and creek their banks o'er leap, And the flood rolls raging by;When the settlers are mourning their crops and sheep, I can watch them without a sigh.What matter to me if their fences go, If their horses and cattle drown?I can find a good meal when the sun is low, And a home when the sun goes down.
So I wander away at my own sweet will, Be it northerly, south or west;When I'm hungry my paunch I can always fill, When I'm tired I can always rest.I care not what others may do or think, I'm a monarch without a crown;I can always be sure of my food and drink, And a home when the sun goes down.