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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343922" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Bushman's Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’M travellin’ down the Castlereagh, and I’m a station hand, <br>I’m handy with the ropin’ pole, I’m handy with the brand, <br>And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day, <br>But there’s no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh. + </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So it’s shift, boys, shift, for there isn’t the slightest doubt <br>That we’ve got to make a shift to the stations further out, <br>With the pack-horse runnin’ after, for he follows like a dog, <br>We must strike across the country at the old jig-jog. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This old black horse I’m riding—if you’ll notice what’s his brand, <br>He wears the crooked R, you see—none better in the land. <br>He takes a lot of beatin’, and the other day we tried, <br>For a bit of a joke, with a racing bloke, for twenty pounds a side. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn’t the slightest doubt <br>That I had to make him shift, for the money was nearly out; <br>But he cantered home a winner, with the other one at the flog— <br>He’s a red-hot sort to pick up with his old jig-jog. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I asked a cove for shearin’ once along the Marthaguy: <br>“We shear non-union here,” says he. “I call it scab,” says I. <br>I looked along the shearin’ floor before I turned to go— <br>There were eight or ten dashed Chinamen a-shearin’ in a row. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn’t the slightest doubt <br>It was time to make a shift with the leprosy about. <br>So I saddled up my horses, and I whistled to my dog, <br>And I left his scabby station at the old jig-jog. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I went to Illawarra, where my brother’s got a farm, <br>He has to ask his landlord’s leave before he lifts his arm; <br>The landlord owns the country side—man, woman, dog, and cat, <br>They haven’t the cheek to dare to speak without they touch their hat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn’t the slightest doubt <br>Their little landlord god and I would soon have fallen out; <br>Was I to touch my hat to him?—was I his bloomin’ dog? <br>So I makes for up the country at the old jig-jog. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But it’s time that I was movin’, I’ve a mighty way to go <br>Till I drink artesian water from a thousand feet below; <br>Till I meet the overlanders with the cattle comin’ down, <br>And I’ll work a while till I make a pile, then have a spree in town. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, it’s shift, boys, shift, for there isn’t the slightest doubt <br>We’ve got to make a shift to the stations further out; <br>The pack-horse runs behind us, for he follows like a dog, <br>And we cross a lot of country at the old jig-jog.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Andrew+Barton+Paterson">Andrew Barton Paterson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343922" data-title="A Bushman's Song de Andrew Barton Paterson" data-description="I’M travellin’ down the Castlereagh, and I’m a station hand, 
I’m handy with the ropin’ pole, I’m handy with the brand, 
And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day, 
But there’s no demand for a station-hand along the Castl..."></div>
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