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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408542" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Word to Texas Jack</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Texas Jack, you are amusin’. By Lord Harry, how I laughed<br>When I seen yer rig and saddle with its bulwarks fore-and-aft;<br>Holy smoke! In such a saddle how the dickens can yer fall?<br>Why, I seen a gal ride bareback with no bridle on at all!<br>Gosh! so-help-me! strike-me-balmy! if a bit o’ scenery<br>Like ter you in all yer rig-out on the earth I ever see!<br>How I’d like ter see a bushman use yer fixins, Texas Jack;<br>On the remnant of a saddle he can ride to hell and back.<br>Why, I heerd a mother screamin’ when her kid went tossin’ by<br>Ridin’ bareback on a bucker that had murder in his eye. <br>What? yer come to learn the natives how to squat on horse’s back!<br>Learn the cornstalk ridin’! Blazes!—w’at yer giv’n’us, Texas Jack?<br>Learn the cornstalk—what the flamin’, jumptup! where’s my country gone?<br>Why, the cornstalk’s mother often rides the day afore he’s born! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You may talk about your ridin’ in the city, bold an’ free,<br>Talk o’ ridin’ in the city, Texas Jack, but where’d yer be<br>When the stock horse snorts an’ bunches all ’is quarters in a hump,<br>And the saddle climbs a sapling, an’ the horse-shoes split a stump? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No, before yer teach the native you must ride without a fall<br>Up a gum or down a gully nigh as steep as any wall—<br>You must swim the roarin’ Darlin’ when the flood is at its height<br>Bearin’ down the stock an’ stations to the Great Australian Bight. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You can’t count the bulls an’ bisons that yer copped with your lassoo—<br>But a stout old myall bullock p’raps ’ud learn yer somethin’ new;<br>Yer’d better make yer will an’ leave yer papers neat an’ trim<br>Before yer make arrangements for the lassooin’ of him;<br>Ere you ’n’ yer horse is catsmeat, fittin’ fate for sich galoots,<br>And yer saddle’s turned to laces like we put in blucher boots. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yer say yer death on Injins! We’ve got somethin’in yer line—<br>If yer think your fitin’s ekal to the likes of Tommy Ryan.<br>Take yer karkass up to Queensland where the allygators chew<br>And the carpet-snake is handy with his tail for a lassoo; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ride across the hazy regins where the lonely emus wail<br>An’ ye’ll find the black’ll track yer while yer lookin’ for his trail;<br>He can track yer without stoppin’ for a thousand miles or more—<br>Come again, and he will show yer where yer spit the year before.<br>But yer’d best be mighty careful, you’ll be sorry you kem here<br>When yer skewered to the fakements of yer saddle with a spear—<br>When the boomerang is sailin’ in the air, may heaven help yer!<br>It will cut yer head off goin’, an’ come back again and skelp yer. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">P.S.—As poet and as Yankee I will greet you, Texas Jack,<br>For it isn’t no ill-feelin’ that is gettin’ up my back,<br>But I won’t see this land crowded by each Yank and British cuss<br>Who takes it in his head to come a-civilisin’ us.<br>So if you feel like shootin’ now, don’t let yer pistol cough—<br>(Our Government is very free at chokin’ fellers off);<br>And though on your great continent there’s misery in the towns<br>An’ not a few untitled lords and kings without their crowns,<br>I will admit your countrymen is busted big, an’ free,<br>An’ great on ekal rites of men and great on liberty; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I will admit yer fathers punched the gory tyrant’s head,<br>But then we’ve got our heroes, too, the diggers that is dead—<br>The plucky men of Ballarat who toed the scratch right well<br>And broke the nose of Tyranny and made his peepers swell<br>For yankin’ Lib.’s gold tresses in the roarin’ days gone by,<br>An’ doublin’ up his dirty fist to black her bonny eye;<br>So when it comes to ridin’ mokes, or hoistin’ out the Chow,<br>Or stickin’ up for labour’s rights, we don’t want showin’ how.<br>They come to learn us cricket in the days of long ago,<br>An’ Hanlan come from Canada to learn us how to row,<br>An’ ‘doctors’ come from ’Frisco just to learn us how to skite,<br>An’ ‘pugs’ from all the lands on earth to learn us how to fight;<br>An’ when they go, as like or not, we find we’re taken in,<br>They’ve left behind no larnin’—but they’ve carried off our tin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</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=408542" data-title="A Word to Texas Jack de Henry Lawson" data-description="Texas Jack, you are amusin’. By Lord Harry, how I laughed
When I seen yer rig and saddle with its bulwarks fore-and-aft;
Holy smoke! In such a saddle how the dickens can yer fall?
Why, I seen a gal ride bareback with no bridle on at all!
Gosh! s..."></div>
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