While The Billy BoilsSearchYou lazy boy, you’re here at last,You must be wooden-leggedNow, are you sure the gate is fastAnd all the sliprails peggedAnd all the milkers at the yard,The calves all in the pen?We don’t want Poley’s calf to suckHis mother dry again.
And did you mend the broken railAnd make it firm and neat?I s’pose you want that brindle steerAll night among the wheat.And if he finds the lucerne patch,He’ll stuff his belly full;He’ll eat till he gets ‘blown’ on thatAnd busts like Ryan’s bull.
Old Spot is lost? You’ll drive me mad,You will, upon my soul!She might be in the boggy swampsOr down a digger’s hole.You needn’t talk, you never lookedYou’d find her if you’d choose,Instead of poking ’possum logsAnd hunting kangaroos.
How came your boots as wet as muck?You tried to drown the ants!Why don’t you take your bluchers off,Good Lord, he’s tore his pants!Your father’s coming home to-night;You’ll catch it hot, you’ll see.Now go and wash your filthy faceAnd come and get your tea.