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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408598" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Corny Bill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth, <br> His hat pushed from his brow, <br>His dress best fitted for the South -- <br> I think I see him now; <br>And when the city streets are still, <br> And sleep upon me comes, <br>I often dream that me an' Bill <br> Are humpin' of our drums. <br> <br>I mind the time when first I came <br> A stranger to the land; <br>And I was stumped, an' sick, an' lame <br> When Bill took me in hand. <br>Old Bill was what a chap would call <br> A friend in poverty, <br>And he was very kind to all, <br> And very good to me. <br> <br>We'd camp beneath the lonely trees <br> And sit beside the blaze, <br>A-nursin' of our wearied knees, <br> A-smokin' of our clays. <br>Or when we'd journeyed damp an' far, <br> An' clouds were in the skies, <br>We'd camp in some old shanty bar, <br> And sit a-tellin' lies. <br> <br>Though time had writ upon his brow <br> And rubbed away his curls, <br>He always was -- an' may be now -- <br> A favourite with the girls; <br>I've heard bush-wimmin scream an' squall -- <br> I've see'd 'em laugh until <br>They could not do their work at all, <br> Because of Corny Bill. <br> <br>He was the jolliest old pup <br> As ever you did see, <br>And often at some bush kick-up <br> They'd make old Bill M.C. <br>He'd make them dance and sing all night, <br> He'd make the music hum, <br>But he'd be gone at mornin' light <br> A-humpin' of his drum. <br> <br>Though joys of which the poet rhymes <br> Was not for Bill an' me, <br>I think we had some good old times <br> Out on the wallaby. <br>I took a wife and left off rum, <br> An' camped beneath a roof; <br>But Bill preferred to hump his drum <br> A-paddin' of the hoof. <br> <br>The lazy, idle loafers what <br> In toney houses camp <br>Would call old Bill a drunken sot, <br> A loafer, or a tramp; <br>But if the dead should ever dance -- <br> As poets say they will -- <br>I think I'd rather take my chance <br> Along of Corny Bill. <br> <br>His long life's-day is nearly o'er, <br> Its shades begin to fall; <br>He soon must mount his bluey for <br> The last long tramp of all; <br>I trust that when, in bush an' town, <br> He's lived and learnt his fill, <br>They'll let the golden slip-rails down <br> For poor old Corny Bill.</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=408598" data-title="Corny Bill de Henry Lawson" data-description="His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth, 
 His hat pushed from his brow, 
His dress best fitted for the South -- 
 I think I see him now; 
And when the city streets are still, 
 And sleep upon me comes, 
I often dream that me an' Bill 
 Are humpin' o..."></div>
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