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The Kelly Gang

Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear
The news that's going round,
On the head of bold Ned Kelly
They have placed two thousand pound.
And on Steve Hart, Joe Byrne and Dan
Two thousand more they'd give,
But if the price was doubled, boys,
The Kelly gang would live.
'Tis hard to think such plucky hearts
In crime should be employed,
'Tis by police persecution
They have all been much annoyed.
Revenge is sweet, and in the bush
They can defy the law,
Such sticking up and plundering
You never saw before.
'Twas in November, Seventy-eight,
When theKelly Gang came down,
Just after shooting Kennedy,
To famed Euroa town;
To rod the bank of all its gold
Was their idea that day,
Blood-horses they were mounted on
To make their getaway.
So Kelly marched into the bank,
A cheque all in his hand,
For to have it changed for money
Of Scott he did demand.
And when that he refused him,
He, looking at him straight,
Said, 'See here, my name's Ned Kelly,
And this here man's my mate.'
With pistols pointed at his nut,
Poor Scott did stand amazed,
His stick he would have liked to cut,
But was with funk half crazed;
The poor cashier, with real fear,
Stood trembling at the knees,
But at last they both seen 'twas no use
And handed out the keys.
The safe was quickly gutted then,
The drawers turned out, as well,
The Kellys being quite polite,
Like any noble swell.
With flimsies, gold and silver coin,
The threepennies and all
Amouning to two thousand pounds,
They made a glorious haul.
'Now hand out all your firearms,'
The robber boldly said,
'And all your amunition -
Or a bullet through your head.
Now get your wife and children -
Come man, now look alive;
All jump into this buggy
And we'll take you for a drive.'
They took them to a station
About three miles away,
And kept them close imprisoned
Until the following day.
The owner of the station
And those in his employ
And a few unwary travellers
Their company did enjoy.
An indian hawker fell in, too,
As everybody knows,
He came in handy to the gang
By fitting them with clothes.
Then with their worn-out clothing
They made a few bonfires,
And then destroyed the telegraph
By cutting down the wires.
Oh, Paddy dear, do shed a tear,
I can't but sympathize,
Those Kellys are the devils,
For they've made another rise;
This time across the billabong,
On Morgan's ancient beat,
They've robbed the banks of thousands,
And in safety did retreat.
The matter may be serious, Pat,
But still I can't but laugh.
To think the tales the bobbies told
Must all amount to chaff.
They said they had them all hemmed in,
They could not get away,
But they turned up in New South Wales,
And made the journey pay.
They rode into Jerilderie town
At twelve o'clock at night,
Aroused the troopers from their beds,
And gave them an awful fright.
They took them in their night-shirts,
Ashamed I am to tell,
They covered them with revolvers
And locked them in a cell.
They next acquainted the womenfolk
That they were going to stay
And take possession of the camp
Until the following day.
They fed their horses in the stalls
Without the slightest fear,
Then went to rest their weary limbs
Till daylight did appear.
Next morning being Sunday morn
Of course they must be good,
They dressed themselves in troopers' clothes,
And Ned, he chopped some wood.
No one there suspected them,
As troopers they did pass,
And Dan, the most religious one,
Took the sergeant's wife to mass.
They spent the day most pleasantly,
Had plenty of good cheer,
Fried beefsteak and onions,
Tomato-sauce and beer;
The ladies in attendance
Indulged in pleasant talk,
And just to ease the troopers minds,
They took them for a walk.
On Monday morning early,
Still masters of the ground,
They took their horses to the forge
And had them shod all round;
Then back they came and mounted,
Theri plans all laid so well,
In company with troopers
They stuck up the Royal Hotel.
They bailed up all the occupants,
And placed them in a room,
Saying, 'Do as we comand you,
Or death will be your doom.'
A chineses cook, 'No savvy' cried,
Not knowing what to fear,
But they brought him to his senses
With a lift under the ear.
All who now approached the house
Just shared a similar fate,
In hardly any time at all
The number was twenty-eight.
They shouted freely for all hands,
And paid for all they drank,
And two of them remained in charge,
And two went to the bank.
The farce was here repeated
As I've already told,
They bailed up all the banker's clerks
And robbed them of their gold.
The manager could not be found,
And Kelly, in great wrath,
Searched high and low, and luckily
He found him in his bath.
The robbing o'er they mounted then,
To make a quick retreat,
They swept away with all their loot
By Morgans' ancient beat;
And where they've gone I do not know,
If I did I wouldn't tell,
So now, until I hear from them,
I'll bid you all farewell.

poem by Anonymous Oceania
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The Bush Rangers

Four horseman rode out from the heart of the range,
Four horseman with aspects forbidding and strange.
They were booted and spurred, they were armed to the teeth,
And they frowned as they looked at the valley beneath,
As forward they rode through the rocks and the fern -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.

Ned Kelly drew rein and he shaded his eyes -
'The town's at our mercy! See yonder it lies!
To hell with the troopers!' - he shook his clenched fist -
'We will shoot them like dogs if they dare to resist!'
And all of them nodded, grim-visaged and stern -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.

Through the gullies and creeks they rode silently down;
They stuck-up the station and raided the town;
They opened the safe and they looted the bank;
They laughed and were merry, they ate and they drank.
Then off to the ranges they went with their gold -
Oh! never were bandits more reckless and bold.

But time brings its punishment, time travels fast -
And the outlaws were trapped in Glenrowan at last,
Where three of them died in the smoke and the flame,
And Ned Kelly came back - to the last he was game.
But the Law shot him down (he was fated to hang),
And that was the end of the bushranging gang.

Whatever their faults and whatever their crimes,
Their deeds lend romance to those faraway times.
They have gone from the gullies they haunted of old,
And nobody knows where they buried their gold.
To the ranges they loved they will never return -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.

But at times when I pass through that sleepy old town
Where the far-distant peaks of Strathbogie look down
I think of the days when those grim ranges rang
To the galloping hooves of the bushranging gang.
Though the years bring oblivion, time brings a change,
The ghosts of the Kellys still ride from the range.

poem by Edward Harrington
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They Knew Of Racism

They knew of racism and police abuse
And for retalitation the Kellys they had an excuse
Ned and Dan Kelly's sister Kate was raped by a man of the law
In the dehumanizing of the Kellys that was the last straw.

The lawman who raped Kate Kelly for his crimes did not pay
And before condemning the Kelly gang and bad things of them say
If the same thing did happen to your family
Than they did would you have acted differently?

In the old Beechworth prison where Ned Kelly served time
For horse stealing that does not seem such a great crime
In a small draughty cell on an earthen floor he slept
In worse living conditions any dog never kept.

Ned and Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne paid for their ill fame
And each in their own right a legendary name
And though all of them did go to an early grave
It can be said of them that they did die brave.

Glenrowan where the Kelly gang made their last stand
A historical old Town in the Southern Land
Disrespect for their families the lawmen did show
And things might have been different for them did they receive a fair go.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Zero And Blind Terry

The skulls met the pythons
Down at the first street station
Alliance has been made in alleyways
All across the nation
These boys live off the milk of a silver jet
And the love of sweet young women
The pythons are down from old englishtown
And they 're looking to do some living
Well the leader of the pythons
Is a kid they just call zero
Now terry's pop says these kids
Are some kind of monsters
But terry says "no, pop
They're just plain heroes"
Zero and terry had found a love
That burned like wild fire
Now terry's dad understood
That this zero was no good
A tramp, a thief and a liar
Well from out of the darkness
That breaks the dawn
Zero rode like twilight
He said "tonight's the night
Blind terry come on
Terry come on
Tonight is the night
Pack your bags baby"
And together they ran like reindeers
Through the streets
Well like tomorrow the earth
Is gonna catch on fire
Now terry's dad hired some troopers
To kill zero and bring terry back home
They caught up in the night, like firelightthem starlight troopers....
Zero marches through terry's field
They met the pythons down on route nine
But they refused to yield
Now the pythons fought with blazed guns
And the troopers with swords of light
And zero and terry they ran away
And the gang fought all through the night
Now some folks say
Zero and terry got away
Other said they were caught and brought back
Ah, still young pilgrims to this day
Go to that spot way down by the railroad tracks
Where the troopers met the pythons
Old timers cry on a hot august night
If you look hard enough, if you try
You'll see zero and terry and all the pythons
Just hiking them streets up in the sky.

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Stable

What! you don't like him; well, maybe -- we all have our fancies, of course:
Brumby to look at, you reckon? Well, no; he's a thoroughbred horse;
Sired by a son of old Panic -- look at his ears and his head --
Lop-eared and Roman-nosed, ain't he? -- well, that's how the Panics are bred.
Gluttonous, ugly and lazy, rough as a tipcart to ride,
Yet if you offered a sovereign apiece for the hairs on his hide
That wouldn't buy him, nor twice that; while I've a pound to the good,
This here old stager stays by me and lives like a thoroughbred should;
Hunt him away from his bedding, and sit yourself down by the wall,
Till you hear how the old fellow saved me from Gilbert, O'Meally and Hall.
*

Gilbert and Hall and O'Meally, back in the bushranging days,
Made themselves kings of the district -- ruled it in old-fashioned ways --
Robbing the coach and the escort, stealing our horses at night,
Calling sometimes at the homesteads and giving the women a fright:
Came to the station one morning (and why they did this no one knows)
Took a brood mare from the paddock--wanting some fun, I suppose --
Fastened a bucket beneath her, hung by a strap around her flank,
Then turned her loose in the timber back of the seven-mile tank.

Go? She went mad! She went tearing and screaming with fear through the trees,
While the curst bucket beneath her was banging her flanks and her knees.
Bucking and racing and screaming she ran to the back of the run,
Killed herself there in a gully; by God, but they paid for their fun!
Paid for it dear, for the black-boys found tracks, and the bucket, and all,
And I swore that I'd live to get even with Gilbert, O'Meally and Hall.

Day after day then I chased them -- 'course they had friends on the sly,
Friends who were willing to sell them to those who were willing to buy.
Early one morning we found them in camp at the Cockatoo Farm;
One of us shot at O'Meally and wounded him under the arm:
Ran them for miles in the ranges, till Hall, with his horse fairly beat,
Took to the rocks and we lost him -- the others made good their retreat.
It was war to the knife then, I tell you, and once, on the door of my shed,
They nailed up a notice that offered a hundred reward for my head!
Then we heard they were gone from the district; they stuck up a coach in the West,
And I rode by myself in the paddocks, just taking a bit of a rest,
Riding this colt as a youngster -- awkward, half-broken and shy,
He wheeled round one day on a sudden; I looked, but I couldn't see why --
But I soon found out why, for before me the hillside rose up like a wall,
And there on the top with their rifles were Gilbert, O'Meally and Hall!

'Twas a good three-mile run to the homestead -- bad going, with plenty of trees --
So I gathered the youngster together, and gripped at his ribs with my knees.
'Twas a mighty poor chance to escape them! It puts a man's nerve to the test
On a half-broken colt to be hunted by the best mounted men in the West.
But the half-broken colt was a racehorse! He lay down to work with a will.
Flashed through the scrub like a clean-skin-by heavens, we flew down the hill!
Over a twenty-foot gully he swept with the spring of a deer,
And they fired as we jumped, but they missed me -- a bullet sang close to my ear --
And the jump gained us ground, for they shirked it: but I saw as we raced through the gap
That the rails at the homestead were fastened -- I was caught like a rat in a trap.
Fenced with barbed wire was the paddock -- barbed wire that would cut like a knife --
How was a youngster to clear it that never had jumped in his life?

Bang went a rifle behind me -- the colt gave a spring, he was hit;
Straight at the sliprails I rode him -- I felt him take hold of the bit;
Never a foot to the right or the left did he swerve in his stride,
Awkward and frightened, but honest, the sort it's a pleasure to ride!
Straight at the rails, where they'd fastened barbed wire on the top of the post,
Rose like a stag and went over, with hardly a scratch at the most;
Into the homestead I darted, and snatched down my gun from the wall,
And I tell you I made them step lively, Gilbert, O'Meally and Hail.

Yes! There's the mark of the bullet -- he's got it inside of him yet,
Mixed up somehow with his victuals; but, bless you, he don't seem to fret!
Gluttonous, ugly, and lazy -- eats anything he can bite;
Now, let us shut up the stable, and bid the old fellow good night.
Ah! we can't breed 'em, the son that were bred when we old uns were young....
Yes, as I said, these bushrangers, none of 'em lived to be hung.
Gilbert was shot by the troopers, Hall was betrayed by his friend,
Campbell disposed of O'Meally, bringing the lot to an end.
But you can talk about riding -- I've ridden a lot in the past --
Wait till there's rifles behind you, you'll know what it means to go fast!
I've steeplechased, raced, and "run horses", but I think the most dashing of all
Was the ride when that old fellow saved me from Gilbert, O'Meally and Hall!

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Mary Lemaine

Jim Duff was a ‘native,’as wild as could be;
A stealer and duffer of cattle was he,
But back in his youth he had stolen a pearl—
Or a diamond rather—the heart of a girl;
She served with a squatter who lived on the plain,
And the name of the girl it was Mary Lemaine.
’Twas a drear, rainy day and the twilight was done,
When four mounted troopers rode up to the run.
They spoke to the squatter—he asked them all in.
The homestead was small and the walls they were thin;
And in the next room, with a cold in her head,
Our Mary was sewing on buttons—in bed.

She heard a few words, but those words were enough—
The troopers were all on the track of Jim Duff.
The super, his rival, was planning a trap
To capture the scamp in Maginnis’s Gap.
‘I’ve warned him before, and I’ll do it again;—
I’ll save him to-night,’ whispered Mary Lemaine.

No petticoat job—there was no time to waste,
The suit she was mending she slipped on in haste,
And five minutes later they gathered in force,
But Mary was off, on the squatter’s best horse;
With your hand on your heart, just to deaden the pain,
Ride hard to the ranges, brave Mary Lemaine!

She rode by the ridges all sullen and strange,
And far up long gullies that ran through the range,
Till the rain cleared away, and the tears in her eyes
Caught the beams of the moon from Maginnis’s Rise.
A fire in the depths of the gums she espied,
‘Who’s there?’ shouted Jim. ‘It is Mary!’she cried.

Next morning the sun rose in splendour again,
And two loving sinners rode out on the plain.
And baffled, and angry, and hungry and damp,
The four mounted troopers rode back to the camp.
But they hushed up the business—the reason is plain,
They all had been ‘soft’ on fair Mary Lemaine.

The squatter got back all he lost from his mob,
And old Sergeant Kennedy winked at the job.
Jim Duff keeps a shanty far out in the west,
And the sundowners call it the ‘Bushranger’s Rest.’
But the bushranger lives a respectable life,
And the law never troubles Jim Duff or his wife,

poem by Henry Lawson
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The Wild Colonial Boy

'Tis of a wild Colonial boy, Jack Doolan was his name,
Of poor but honest parents he was born in Castlemaine.
He was his father's only hope, his mother's only joy,
And dearly did his parents love the wild Colonial boy.

Come, all my hearties, we'll roam the mountains high,
Together we will plunder, together we will die.
We'll wander over valleys, and gallop over plains,
And we'll scorn to live in slavery, bound down with iron chains.

He was scarcely sixteen years of age when he left his father's home,
And through Australia's sunny clime a bushranger did roam.
He robbed those wealthy squatters, their stock he did destroy,
And a terror to Australia was the wild Colonial boy.

In sixty-one this daring youth commenced his wild career,
With a heart that knew no danger, no foeman did he fear.
He stuck up the Beechworth mail coach, and robbed Judge MacEvoy,
Who trembled, and gave up his gold to the wild Colonial boy.

He bade the Judge "Good morning," and told him to beware,
That he'd never rob a hearty chap that acted on the square,
And never to rob a mother of her son and only joy,
Or else you may turn outlaw, like the wild Colonial boy.

One day as he was riding the mountain side along,
A-listening to the little birds, their pleasant laughing song,
Three mounted troopers rode along—Kelly, Davis, and FitzRoy.
They thought that they would capture him—the wild Colonial boy.

"Surrender now, Jack Doolan, you see there's three to one.
Surrender now, Jack Doolan, you daring highwayman."
He drew a pistol from his belt, and shook the little toy.
"I'll fight, but not surrender," said the wild Colonial boy.

He fired at Trooper Kelly, and brought him to the ground,
And in return from Davis received a mortal wound.
All shattered through the jaws he lay still firing at FitzRoy,
And that's the way they captured him—the wild Colonial boy.

It will be noticed that the same chorus is sung to both
"The Wild Colonial Boy" and "Bold Jack Donahoo."
Several versions of both songs were sent in, but the same
chorus was always made to do duty for both songs.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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She Wants You

[R.] Here's the day I've been waiting on
NFL on Sunday morn'
[Kelly] But you know we need to talk right now
[R.] Not right now the TV is on
Move outta the way
The National Anthem is coming on
[Kelly] If it's the National Anthem you want
[R.] Kelly let it wait
[Kelly] Here it is
[R.] Woman if you don't go in there
And get me my beer and leave me alone
[Kelly] And I thought I made it clear
[R.] Please don't start this again
[Kelly] Told you to get her out of there
[R.] I told you she was just a friend
[Kelly] Came through your house last night
And her bags were still there, oh
[R.] Oh damn
(Chorus)
Kelly Price-
She wants you
And baby I'm not fooled
She wants you
So don't you play the fool
You say she's just a friend
But I can see straight through
Baby I'm not having it
Ooh, a true friend indeed
She was just a friend in need
She called to you just for help
She said she didn't have no one else
But I know that something's wrong
I felt it while we were on the phone
Cause she's looking for love
And she's looking at you
I recognize the game boy
(Chorus)
No, no, no, no, no
Just you and me
Until this came to be, hmm
We never had an argument
Until the day you took her in, yeah
My love this is killing me (Yes it is)
The web she weaves, oh, underhanded schemes
But I can see what you don't see
I've been here before
And I won't take no more
(Chorus)
No, no never gonna play fool
Never gonna play a fool no more
Like in Friend Of Mine, no not this time
Never gonna let another one take what's mine
Sai

song performed by by Kelly Price
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frank Gardiner

Oh Frank Gardiner is caught at last and lies in Sydney jail,
For wounding Sergeant Middleton and robbing the Mudgee mail.
For plundering of the gold escort, the Carcoar mail also;
And it was for gold he made so bold, and not so long ago.

His daring deeds surprised them all throughout the Sydney land,
And on his friends he gave a call, and quickly raised a band.
And fortune always favoured him, until this time of late,
Until Ben Hall and Gilbert met with their dreadful fate.

Young Vane, he has surrendered, Ben Hall's got his death wound,
And as for Johnny Gilbert, near Binalong was found,
He was all alone and lost his horse, three troopers came in sight,
And fought the three most manfully, got slaughtered in the fight.

Farewell, adieu, to outlawed Frank, he was the poor man's friend.
The Government has secured him, the laws he did offend.
He boldly stood his trial and answered in a breath,
'And do what you will, you can but kill; I have no fear of death!'

Day after day they remanded him, escorted from the bar,
Fresh charges brought against him from neighbours near and far,
And now it is all over; the sentence they have passed,
All sought to find a verdict, and 'Guilty' 'twas at last.

When lives you take, a warning boys, a woman never trust:
She will turn round, I will be bound, Queen's evidence, the first.
He's doing two-and-thirty years; he's doomed to served the Crown,
And well may he say, he cursed the day he met with Mrs Brown.

poem by Anonymous Oceania
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The Wild Colonial Boy

'Tis of a wild Colonial Boy, Jack Doolan was his name,
Of poor but honest parents he was born in Castlemaine.
He was his father's only hope, his mother's pride and joy,
And dearly did his parents love the wild Colonial Boy.

Chorus
Come, all my hearties, we'll roam the mountains high,
Together we will plunder, together we will die.
We'll wander over valleys, and gallop over plains,
And we'll scorn to live in slavery, bound down with iron chains.

He was scarcely sixteen years of age when he left his father's home,
And through Australia's sunny clime a bushranger did roam.
He robbed those wealthy squatters, their stock he did destroy,
And a terror to Australia was the wild Colonial Boy.

In sixty-one this daring youth commenced his wild career,
With a heart that knew no danger, no foeman did he fear.
He stuck up the Beechworth mail-coach, and robbed Judge MacEvoy,
Who trembled, and gave up his gold to the wild Colonial Boy.

He bade the judge "Good morning", and told him to beware,
That he'd never rob a hearty chap that acted on the square,
And never to rob a mother of her son and only joy,
Or else you might turn outlaw, like the wild Colonial Boy.

One day as he was riding the mountain-side along,
A-listening to the little birds, their pleasant laughing song,
Three mounted troopers rode along - Kelly, Davis and FitzRoy -
They thought that they would capture him, the wild Colonial Boy.

"Surrender now, Jack Doolan, you see there's three to one.
Surrender now, Jack Doolan, you're a daring highwayman."
He drew a pistol from his belt, and shook the little toy,
"I'll fight, but not surrender," said the wild Colonial Boy.

He fired at Trooper Kelly and brought him to the ground,
And in return from Davis received a mortal wound.
All shattered through the jaws he lay still firing at FitzRoy,
And that's the way they captured him - the wild Colonial Boy

poem by Anonymous Oceania
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A Day's Ride

Bold are the mounted robbers who on stolen horses ride
And bold the mounted troopers who patrol the Sydney side;
But few of them, though flash they be, can ride, and few can fight
As Walker did, for life and death, with Ward the other night.

It seems the troopers heard that Ward, well known as Thunderbolt,
An outlawed thief, was down near Blanche to try a fresh-roped colt.
(Not far from Armidale, that spot for brilliants so renowned -
Although the talked-of diamonds now are seldom found.)

Said Alick Walker as he clapped his saddle on his steed,
'If I catch sight of Ward today I'll try his horse's speed;
Up hill or down, 'tis all the same, I know my nag can stay'
They got his arms, and galloped off, all ready for the fray.

Soon as he got near Thunderbolt, the first salute he got
From that retreating party was a random pistol-shot ;
The robber fled, the trooper went in chase, his spirits rose -
When Ward advised him to keep off, he answered, 'Bosh, here goes!'

As through the scrubby brush they fled, and timber-tangled brake,
Both held their horses well in hand, nor made the least mistake;
Easing his horse with judgement then, the lightweight trooper raced-
Good jockey as the robber was, he found himself outpaced.

Mile after mile, rough ground and smooth, up hill and down the vale,
Steep rocky tracks they galloped o'er - Wards horse began to fail.
Scant time he had for firing, for whenever he looked back
Onward his adversary pressed, fast nearing on his track.

On to a creek pursuer and pursued still headed straight:
One hastening to avenge the law, his foe to meet his fate.
Ward, almost hopeless of escape, devised a desperate scheme -
Dismounting from his horse he swam the wide and rapid stream.

Cried Walker, 'May my mother's son for ever be accursed
If now I fail to take him, but I'll stop his gallop first.'
His pistol flashed, the stockhorse fell; cut off from all retreat
At bay the reckless outlaw stood, defiant in defeat.

'I'll not surrender,' was his cry, 'before I do, I'll die!'
'All right,' his brave opponent said, 'now for it, you or I!'
A moment's pause - a parley now - the trooper made a push
To grapple at close quarters with the ranger of the bush.

A shot - a blow - a struggle wild - the outlaw with a shriek
Relaxed his hold, and sank beneath the waters of the creek.
'Twas thus the dreaded robber's evil spirit passed away,
Vanquished by brave young Walker, now the hero of the day.

Henceforth those loafing swagmen who around the stations coil,
Exchanging lies at night until they see the billies boil,
At lambing-down or shearing-time will tell with bated breath
Of Walker's fight with Thunderbolt, that ride for life and death.

poem by Anonymous Oceania
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Taking His Chance

They stood by the door of the Inn on the Rise;
May Carney looked up in the bushranger's eyes:
`Oh! why did you come? -- it was mad of you, Jack;
You know that the troopers are out on your track.'
A laugh and a shake of his obstinate head --
`I wanted a dance, and I'll chance it,' he said.

Some twenty-odd bushmen had come to the `ball',
But Jack from his youth had been known to them all,
And bushmen are soft where a woman is fair,
So the love of May Carney protected him there;
And all the short evening -- it seems like romance --
She danced with a bushranger taking his chance.

`Twas midnight -- the dancers stood suddenly still,
For hoofs had been heard on the side of the hill!
Ben Duggan, the drover, along the hillside
Came riding as only a bushman can ride.
He sprang from his horse, to the shanty he sped --
`The troopers are down in the gully!' he said.

Quite close to the homestead the troopers were seen.
`Clear out and ride hard for the ranges, Jack Dean!
Be quick!' said May Carney -- her hand on her heart --
`We'll bluff them awhile, and 'twill give you a start.'
He lingered a moment -- to kiss her, of course --
Then ran to the trees where he'd hobbled his horse.

She ran to the gate, and the troopers were there --
The jingle of hobbles came faint on the air --
Then loudly she screamed: it was only to drown
The treacherous clatter of slip-rails let down.
But troopers are sharp, and she saw at a glance
That someone was taking a desperate chance.

They chased, and they shouted, `Surrender, Jack Dean!'
They called him three times in the name of the Queen.
Then came from the darkness the clicking of locks;
The crack of the rifles was heard in the rocks!
A shriek and a shout, and a rush of pale men --
And there lay the bushranger, chancing it then.

The sergeant dismounted and knelt on the sod --
`Your bushranging's over -- make peace, Jack, with God!'
The bushranger laughed -- not a word he replied,
But turned to the girl who knelt down by his side.
He gazed in her eyes as she lifted his head:
`Just kiss me -- my girl -- and -- I'll -- chance it,' he said.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bush Beyond the Range

FROM Crow’s Nest here by Sydney town
Where crows had nests of old
I see the Range where day goes down—
The dim blue in the gold.
And sometimes wonder, half in doubt,
Has there been so much change
As pictured in the prints about
The Bush beyond the Range.

There’s motor car and all the “frills”
But none of my old mates—
The Bush seems run by Buff’lo Bills
And Hayseeds from the States.
I miss the homesteads and the scrub,
The stock and fences too,
The horse and swagmen and the pub.
That Minns and Mahoney drew.

I miss the drivers, diggers, sheep,
And—lots of things—Ah, well!
I wonder if the Kellys keep
The Carrier’s Camp Hotel—
If that still stands by hill and plain
As old man Kelly’s pride—
Or if he did pull round again
When Mary Kelly died?

And Andy Kelly took to drink,
And Barney took a horse
(And two years’ hard without a blink)
And each one took his course.
And what became of Andy Mack,
Tom Browne, and Pat “O’Brine”?
It must be twenty seasons back
Since last I had a line.

I wonder if—but I forget
And wonder like a fool,
Is Bertha Lambert teaching yet
A wretched, half-time school?
I hope—ah! how the memories come,
To bother and defer,
I only hope my boyhood’s chum,
Fred Spencer, married her.

I wonder if the farms we had
Are scrub or ploughed ground now?
A fence by Harry Dare or “Dad”
Would last it, anyhow.
I wonder if the cemet’ry,
Fenced in by Dad and Dare,
Is lonely as it used to be
When they were buried there.

I wonder, and the more it seems
So far away and strange,
For I have lost, except in dreams,
The Bush beyond the Range.
I wonder too, in fear and shame,
Do they, like me, forget—
I wonder if they mind the name
Of “Henry Lawson” yet.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Punchestown

Twas the music took me there,
not the horses, funny that;
Bets and tunes in harmony interweaving,
busking like mad
the duelling whistlers
turned some heads
on ladies day.

Unlike Raifteirí we could
see our conceited audience
we played to the full
but tight pockets,
a crew that would make
Carolan himself cringe
or drive Dáibhí Ó Bruadair
into a rant
of satirical lampoon.

Hats, shades, zany dresses
and fake tan,
looking ridiculous being
the primary aim,
Tis a wonder the poor horses
didn't bolt with the sheer
fright of it all.

All these loopers
shouting and screaming
as they are being
whipped past the post,
one nutter shouts
Hit em, hit em, hit em! ! !

Poor 'Spot the Difference'
runs four and a half miles
at age fourteen
and wins admirably
to a rousing cheer and
'Moscow Flyer' comes out
of retirement at age thirteen

to placate the hungry masses
who fling their race cards
high into the air in celebration
as the noble servant
romps home in the last race
as the poor mouth bookies
reluctantly pay out

And twas funny that
the music brought me
back to the horses,
But i'm afraid i'm stickin'
with the music.

poem by Ciarán Kelly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of Ben Hall's Gang

Come all ye wild colonials And listen to my tale;
A story of bushrangers' deeds I will to you unveil.
'Tis of those gallant heroes, Game fighters one and all;
And we'll sit and sing, Long Live the King,
Dunn,Gilbert, and Ben Hall.

Ben Hall he was a squatter bloke Who owned a thousand head;
A peaceful man he was until Arrested by Sir Fred.
His home burned down, his wife cleared out,
His cattle perished all;
"They'll not take me a second time,'
Says valiant Ben Hall.

John Gilbert was a flash cove, And John O'Meally too;
With Ben and Bourke and Johnny Vane
They all were comrades true.
They rode into Canowindra And gave a public ball.
'Roll up, roll up, and have a spree,'
Says Gilbert and Ben Hall.

They took possession of the town, Including the public-houses,
And treated all the cockatoos And shouted for their spouses.
They danced with all the pretty girls And held a carnival.
'We don't hurt them who don't hurt us,'
Says Gilbert and Ben Hall.

They made a raid on Bathurst, The pace was getting hot;
But Johnny Vane surrendered After Micky Burke was shot,
O'Meally at Goimbla Did like a hero fall;
'The game is getting lively,'
Says John Gilbert and Ben Hall.

Then Gilbert took a holiday, Ben Hall got new recruits;
The Old Man and Dunleavy Shared in the plunder's fruits.
Dunleavy he surrendered And they jagged the Old Man tall -
So Johnny Gilbert came again
To help his mate Ben Hall.

John Dunn he was a jockey bloke, A-riding all the winners,
Until he joined Hall's gang to rob The publicans and sinners;
And many a time the Royal Mail Bailed up at John Dunn's call.
A thousand pounds is on their heads -
Dunn, Gilbert, and Ben Hall.

'Next week we'll visit Goulburn And clean the banks out there;
So if you see the troopers, Just tell them to beware;
Some day to Sydney city We mean to pay a call,
And we'll take the whole damn country,'
Says Dunn, Gilbert, and Ben Hall.

poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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National Anthem / She Wants You

Kelly price f/ r. kelly
[r. kelly]
Heres the day Ive been waiting on
Nfl on sunday morn
[kelly]
But you know we need to talk
Right now
[r. kelly]
Not right now the tv is on
Move outta the way the national anthem is coming on
[kelly] (r. kelly)
If its the national anthem you want
(kelly let it wait)
Here it is
(woman if you dont go in there and leave me alone)
And I thought I made it clear
(please dont start this again)
Told you to get her out of there
(but I told you she was just a friend)
Came through your house last night
And her bags were still there
Oh (oh damn)
She wants you
And baby Im not fooled
She wants you
So dont you play the fool
You say shes just a friend
But I can see straight through
Baby Im not having it
Ooh a true friend indeed
She was just a friend in need
She called to you just for help
She said she didnt have no one else
But I know that somethings wrong
I felt it while we were on the phone
Cause shes looking for love
And shes looking at you
I recognize the game oh, oh yeah, yeah
She wants you
And baby Im not fooled
She wants you
So dont you play the fool
You say shes just a friend
But I can see straight through
Baby Im not having it
No, no, no, no, no
Just you and me
Until this came to be, hmm
We never had an argument
Until the day you took her in, yeah
My love this is killing me, yes it is
The web she weaves, oh
Underhanded schemes
But I can see what you dont see
Ive been here before
And I wont take no more
She wants you
And baby Im not fooled
She wants you
So dont you play the fool
You say shes just a friend
But I can see straight through
Baby Im not having it
No, no never gonna play fool
Never gonna play a fool no more
Like in friend of mine
No not this time
Never gonna let no one take whats mine
Said you cant be so blind
I just wont sit here
While she plans for you
So will you believe me?
You gotta believe me
Everything I say is true
She wants you
And baby Im not fooled
She wants you
So dont you play the fool
You say shes just a friend
But I can see straight through
Baby Im not having it

song performed by by Kelly Price
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Machine Gun Kelly

Ill tell you bout machine gun kelly
He rode along the outlaw trail
Machine gun kelly was a simple man
But the woman was as hard as hell
(chorus)
Watch out machine gun
Dont let her run you round
Dont let a woman put you six feet in the ground
Machine gun
Ill tell you bout katherine kelly
Tired of being such small time
Figured theyd kidnap a rich mans son
And make it in the world of crime
- chorus -
Youd better watch out machine gun kelly
Careful of what you do now
If you keep listening to your old lady
Aint no telling whatll happen to you now
Machine gun
The government boys they came for machine gun
And took the poor boy away
They stuck him in a hole in leavenworth prison
Where he lived until his dying day
Watch out machine gun
Dont let her put you down
Dont let a woman make you out to be a clown
Machine gun
Watch out machine gun

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grif, of the Bloody Hand

In an immense wood in the south of Kent,
There lived a band of robbers which caused the people discontent;
And the place they infested was called the Weald,
Where they robbed wayside travellers and left them dead on the field.

Their leader was called Grif, of the Bloody Hand,
And so well skilled in sword practice there's few could him withstand;
And sometimes they robbed villages when nothing else could be gained,
In the year of 1336, when King Edward the III. reigned.

The dress the robbers wore was deep coloured black,
And in courage and evil deeds they didn't lack;
And Grif. Of the Bloody Hand, called them his devils,
Because they were ever ready to perform all kinds of ills.

'Twas towards the close of a very stormy day,
A stranger walked through the wood in search of Grif, without dismay;
And as the daylight faded he quickened his pace and ran,
Never suspecting that in his rear he was followed by a man.

And as the man to the stranger drew near,
He demanded in a gruff voice, what seek you here;
And when the stranger saw him he trembled with fear,
Because upon his head he wore a steel helmet, and in his hand he bore a spear.

What seek you here repeated the dark habited man,
Come, sir, speak out, and answer me if you can;
Are you then one of the devils demanded the stranger faintly,
That I am said the man, now what matters that to thee.

Then repeated the stranger, sir, you have put me to a stand,
But if I guess aright, you are Grif, of the Bloody Hand;
That I am replied Grif, and to confess it I'm not afraid,
Oh! Well then I require your service and you'll be well paid.

But first I must know thy name, I, that's the point,
Then you shall have the help of my band conjoint;
Before any of my men on your mission goes,
Well then replied the stranger call me Martin Dubois.

Well sir, come tell me what you want as quick as you can,
Well then replied Dubois do you know one Halbert Evesham
That dwells in the little village of Brenchley,
Who has a foster child called Violet Evesham of rare beauty.

And you seek my aid to carry her off,
Ha! Ha! A love affair, nay do not think I scoff;
For you shall enjoy her sir before this time to-morrow,
If that will satisfy you, or help to drown your sorrow.

And now sir what is your terms with me,
Before I carry off Violet Evesham from the village of Brenchley;
Well Grif, one thousand marks shall be the pay,
'Tis agreed then cried Grif, and you shall enjoy her without delay.

Then the bargains struck, uttered Grif, how many men will you require,
Come sir, speak, you can have all of my band if you desire;
Oh, thanks sir, replied Dubois, I consider four men will do,
That's to say sir, if the four men's courage be true.

And to-morrow sir send the men to Brenchley without delay,
And remember one thousand marks will be the pay;
And the plan I propose is to carry her to the wood,
And I will be there to receive her, the plan is good.

And on the next morning Grif, of the bloody Hand,
Told off four of his best men and gave them strict command;
To carry off Violet Evesham from the village of Brenchley,
And to go about it fearlessly and to make no delay.

And when ye have captured her carry her to the wood,
Now remember men I wish my injunctions to be understood;
All right, captain, we'll do as we've been told,
And carry her off all right for the sake of the gold.

So on the next morning before the villagers were out of bed,
The four robbers marched into the village of Brenchley without any dread;
And boldly entered Violet Evesham's house and carried her, away,
While loudly the beautiful girl shrieked in dismay.

But when her old father missed her through the village he ran,
And roused the villagers to a man;
And a great number of them gathered, and Wat Tyler at their head,
And all armed to the teeth, and towards the wood they quickly sped.

And once within the wood Wat Tyler cried, where is Violet Evesham,
Then Grif, of the Bloody Hand cried, what ails the man;
My dear sir I assure you that Violet Evesham is not here.
Therefore good people I advise ye to retire from here.

No! I'll not back cried Wat Tyler, until I rescue Violet Evesham,
Therefore liar, and devil, defend thyself if you can;
Ay replied Grif, that I will thou braggart loon,
And with my sword you silly boy prepare to meet thy doom.

Then they rained their blows on each other as thick as hail,
Until at last Grif's strength began to fail;
Then Wat leaped upon him and threw him to the ground,
Then his men fled into the wood that were standing around.

Then the villagers shouted hurrah for Wat Tyler and victory,
And to search for Violet Evesham they willingly did agree;
And they searched the wood and found her at the foot of a tree,
And when she was taken home the villagers danced with glee.

And 'tis said Wat Tyler married Violet Evesham,
And there was great rejoicing among the villagers at the marriage so grand;
And Wat Tyler captured Dubois, and bound him to a tree,
And left him there struggling hard to gain his liberty.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Maids of the Mountains

In the wild Weddin Mountains there live two young dames
Kate O'Meally, Bet Mayhew are their pretty names;
These maids of the mountains are bonny bush belles,
They ride out on horseback, togged out like young swells.

They dressed themselves up in their brothers' best clothes,
And looked very rakish as you may suppose,
In the joy of their hearts they chuckled with glee -
What fun if for robbers they taken should be .

Just then the policemen by day and by night,
Were seeking Frank Gardiner, the bushranger sprite;
Bold Constable Clark wore a terrible frown,
And thought how Sir Freddy by Frank was done brown.

They sought for the 'ranger, but of course found him not,
When suddenly Katy and Betsy they spot;
'By Pott!' shouted Clark, 'that is Gardiner I see!
The wretch must be taken - come boys, follow me.'

'Stand!' shouted the bobbies in accents most dread,
'Or else you will taste our infallible lead.'
But the maids of the mountains just laughed at poor Clark,
And galloped away to continue their lark.

The troopers pursued them and hot was the chase,
'Tis only in Randwick they go at such pace;
Clark captured the pair, then to show his vexation,
He lugged them both off to the Young police station.

The maids of the mountains, the joke much enjoyed
To see their brave captors so sadly annoyed;
Next day they still smiled as they stood in the dock;
Their awful position their nerves did not shock.

But Constable Clark did not look very jolly,
He had no excuse for such absolute folly;
He admitted the girls were just out on a spree,
And hoped that His Worship would set them both free.

And so the farce ended of Belles versus Blues,
Which caused no great harm and did much to amuse;
But the Burrangong bobbies will place in their cells,
No more maids of the mountains, the bonny bush belles.

poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's All Good

Another one of those
Trackmasters, Rockland joints
You know what I'm saying?
[Girl]
Trackmasters rock on
Rockland rock on
R. Kelly rock on
(Kelly what'cha say baby)
Rock on
(Freestyle)
[R. Kelly]
Since conversation's not the same
And he turned in some shine to rain
Well boo I'm gonna ease your pain
Because I'm gonna be your man
1 - [R. Kelly]
It's all good
See you've already been through enough baby
It's all good
That's why things are about to swing your way
It's all good
You see you don't have to worry baby
It's all good
Cause tomorrow's sun is gonna bring a brighter day
[R. Kelly]
Yes we gon hit the shopping strip
I'll buy you anything you want
You deserve a first class trip
Somewhere far away from home
Repeat 1
[R. Kelly]
Free your mind
And I'll lead you to place
Where the wind blows
And your cares I cast away
And it's all good
Come on, come on, yo
Yo dippin' in the six with the top let down
Smirk on my face cause I'm Rockland bound
While on the other side of town
I be holding it down
Wearing brigets around on my platinum crown
Y'all wanna see my business clothes
See me fold
Keep me from rocking the white gold
Bitches hail,
When I roll we'll sit on chrome
When we do shows we sell out super domes
While you at home burning the hot coal
Honey left you coming home to me like it's a curfew
One nice day and now she calling me boo
And she calling you through
And you calling me singing the sad tune
I wish Kelly would pick up the celly
Got a Philly in a telly with cramps in her belly
Now I can get freaky with some K-Y-jelly
But I'd rather go cruise with my man
What the deally?
Repeat 1
[R. Kelly]
It's all good
See I just want to see you happy darling
It's all good
Yeah, and I can't stand to see your eyes crying
It's all good
And if it takes the rest of all my life
It's all good
Your whole world's gonna be a paradise
It's all good
Rockland, Trackmasters
Nine-Eight
You suckers, screw all of y'all

song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The First Surveyor

"The opening of the railway line! -- the Governor and all!
With flags and banners down the street, a banquet and a ball.
Hark to 'em at the station now! They're raising cheer on cheer!
'The man who brought the railway through -- our friend the engineer.'
They cheer his pluck and enterprise and engineering skill!
'Twas my old husband found the pass behind that big red hill.
Before the engineer was born we'd settled with our stock
Behind that great big mountain chain, a line of range and rock --
A line that kept us starving there in weary weeks of drought,
With ne'er a track across the range to let the cattle out.

"'Twas then, with horses starved and weak and scarcely fit to crawl,
My husband went to find a way across the rocky wall.
He vanished in the wilderness -- God knows where he was gone --
He hunted till his food gave out, but still he battled on.
His horses strayed ('twas well they did), they made towards the grass,
And down behind that big red hill they found an easy pass.

"He followed up and blazed the trees, to show the safest track,
Then drew his belt another hole and turned and started back.
His horses died -- just one pulled through with nothing much to spare;
God bless the beast that brought him home, the old white Arab mare!
We drove the cattle through the hills, along the new-found way,
And this was our first camping-ground -- just where I live today.

"Then others came across the range and built the township here,
And then there came the railway line and this young engineer;
He drove about with tents and traps, a cook to cook his meals,
A bath to wash himself at night, a chain-man at his heels.
And that was all the pluck and skill for which he's cheered and praised,
For after all he took the track, the same my husband blazed!

"My poor old husband, dead and gone with never a feast nor cheer;
He's buried by the railway line! -- I wonder can he hear
When by the very track he marked, and close to where he's laid,
The cattle trains go roaring down the one-in-thirty grade.
I wonder does he hear them pass, and can he see the sight
When, whistling shrill, the fast express goes flaming by at night.

"I think 'twould comfort him to know there's someone left to care;
I'll take some things this very night and hold a banquet there --
The hard old fare we've often shared together, him and me,
Some damper and a bite of beef, a pannikin of tea:
We'll do without the bands and flags, the speeches and the fuss,
We know who ought to get the cheers -- and that's enough for us.

"What's that? They wish that I'd come down -- the oldest settler here!
Present me to the Governor and that young engineer!
Well, just you tell his Excellence, and put the thing polite,
I'm sorry, but I can't come down -- I'm dining out tonight!"

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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