Song of the Squatter
The Commissioner bet me a pony—I won,
So he cut off exactly two-thirds of my run;
For he said I was making a fortune too fast,
And profit gained slower the longer would last.
He remarked, as devouring my mutton he sat,
That I suffered my sheep to grow sadly too fat;
That they wasted waste land, did prerogative brown,
And rebelliously nibbled the droits of the Crown;
That the creek that divided my station in two
Showed that Nature designed that two fees should be due.
Mr. Riddle assured me’t was paid but for show,
But he kept it and spent it, that ’s all that I know.
The commissioner fined me because I forgot
To return an old ewe that was ill of the rot,
And a poor wry-necked lamb that we kept for a pet;
And he said it was treason such things to forget.
The commissioner pounded my cattle because
They had mumbled the scrub with their famishing jaws
On the part of the run he had taken away,
And he sold them by auction the costs to defray.
The border police they were out all the day
To look for some thieves who had ransacked my dray;
But the thieves they continued in quiet and peace,
For they ’d robbed it themselves, had the border police!
When the white thieves had left me the black thieves appeared,
My shepherds they waddied, my cattle they speared;
But from fear of my license I said not a word,
For I knew it was gone if the Government heard.
The commissioner’s bosom with anger was filled
Against me because my poor shepherd was killed;
So he straight took away the last third of my run,
And got it transferred to the name of his son.
The son had from Cambridge been lately expelled,
And his license for preaching most justly withheld!
But this is no cause, the commissioner says,
Why he should not be fit for my license to graze.
The cattle, that had not been sold at the pound,
He took with the run at five shillings all round,
And the sheep the blacks left me at sixpence a head,—
A very good price, the commissioner said.
The Governor told me I justly was served,
That commissioners never from duty had swerved;
But that if I’d a fancy for any more land
For one pound an acre he ’d plenty on hand.
I ’m not very proud! I can dig in a bog,
Feed pigs, or for firewood can split up a log,
Clean shoes, riddle cinders, or help to boil down—
Anything that you please, but graze lands of the Crown!
poem by Robert Lowe Sherbrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Song Of The Squatter
The Commissioner bet me a pony—I won;
So he cut off exactly two-thirds of my run;
For he said I was making a fortune too fast,
And profit gained slower the longer would last.
He remarked as devouring my mutton he sat,
That I suffered my sheep to grow sadly too fat;
That they wasted waste land, did prerogative brown,
And rebelliously nibbled the droits of the Crown;
That the creek that divided my station in two
Showed that Nature designed that two fees should be due.
Mr. Riddle assured me 'twas paid but for show;
But he kept it and spent it; that's all that I know.
The Commissioner fined me because I forgot
To return an old ewe that was ill of the rot,
And a poor wry-necked lamb that we kept for a pet;
And he said it was treason such things to forget.
The Commissioner pounded my cattle because
They had mumbled the scrub with their famishing jaws
On the part of the run he had taken away;
And he sold them by auction the costs to defray.
The Border Police they were out all the day
To look for some thieves who had ransacked my dray;
But the thieves they continued in quiet and peace,
For they'd robbed it themselves—had the Border Police!
When the white thieves had left me the black thieves appeared,
My shepherds they waddied, my cattle they speared;
But for fear of my licence I said not a word,
For I knew it was gone if the Government heard.
The Commissioner's bosom with anger was filled
Against me because my poor shepherd was killed;
So he straight took away the last third of my run,
And got it transferred to the name of his son.
The son had from Cambridge been lately expelled,
And his licence for preaching most justly withheld!
But this is no cause, the Commissioner says,
Why he should not be fit for a licence to graze.
The cattle that had not been sold at the pound
He took with the run at five shillings all round;
And the sheep the blacks left me at sixpence a head
"A very good price," the Commissioner said.
The Governor told me I justly was served,
That Commissioners never from duty had swerved;
But that if I'd a fancy for any more land
For one pound an acre he'd plenty on hand.
I'm not very proud! I can dig in a bog,
Feed pigs or for firewood can split up a log,
Clean shoes, riddle cinders, or help to boil down
Or whatever you please, but graze lands of the Crown.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The two men were greedily hunched over the table, like two wolves disputing a carcass, but their muttered speech in the echoing hall resembled more the grunting of pigs. One was less than a wolf: he was a public prosecutor. The other was more than a pig, he was a chief commissioner of police.
quote by Jan Neruda
Submitted by Simona Enache
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Billy Barlow In Australia
When I was at home I was down on my luck,
And I earned a poor living by drawing a truck;
But old aunt died, and left me a thousand—"Oh, oh,
I'll start on my travels," said Billy Barlow.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
So off to Australia came Billy Barlow.
When to Sydney I got, there a merchant I met,
Who said he would teach me a fortune to get;
He'd cattle and sheep past the colony's bounds,
Which he sold with the station for my thousand pounds.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
He gammon'd the cash out of Billy Barlow.
When the bargain was struck, and the money was paid,
He said, "My dear fellow, your fortune is made;
I can furnish supplies for the station, you know,
And your bill is sufficient, good Mr. Barlow."
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
A gentleman settler was Billy Barlow.
So I got my supplies, and I gave him my bill,
And for New England started, my pockets to fill;
But by bushrangers met, with my traps they made free,
Took my horse and left Billy bailed to a tree.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
"I shall die of starvation," thought Billy Barlow.
At last I got loose, and I walked on my way;
A constable came up, and to me did say,
"Are you free?" Says I, "Yes, to be sure; don't you know?"
And I handed my card, "Mr. William Barlow."
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
He said, "That's all gammon," to Billy Barlow.
Then he put on the handcuffs, and brought me away
Right back down to Maitland, before Mr. Day.
When I said I was free, why the J.P. replied,
"I must send you down to be i—dentified."
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
So to Sydney once more went poor Billy Barlow.
They at last let me go, and I then did repair
For my station once more, and at length I got there;
But a few days before, the blacks, you must know,
Had spear'd all the cattle of Billy Barlow.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
"It's a beautiful country," said Billy Barlow.
And for nine months before no rain there had been,
So the devil a blade of grass could be seen;
And one-third of my wethers the scab they had got,
And the other two-thirds had just died of the rot.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
"I shall soon be a settler," said Billy Barlow.
And the matter to mend, now my bill was near due,
So I wrote to my friend, and just asked to renew;
He replied he was sorry he couldn't, because
The bill had passed into a usurer's claws.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
"But perhaps he'll renew it," said Billy Barlow.
I applied; to renew he was quite content,
If secured, and allowed just three hundred per cent.;
But as I couldn't do, Barr, Rodgers, and Co.
Soon sent up a summons for Billy Barlow.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
They soon settled the business of Billy Barlow.
For a month or six weeks I stewed over my loss,
And a tall man rode up one day on a black horse;
He asked, "Don't you know me?" I answered him "No."
"Why," said he, "my name's Kinsmill; how are you, Barlow?"
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
He'd got a fi. fa. for poor Billy Barlow.
What I'd left of my sheep and my traps he did seize,
And he said, "They won't pay all the costs and my fees;"
Then he sold off the lot, and I'm sure 'twas a sin,
At sixpence a head, and the station giv'n in.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
"I'll go back to England," said Billy Barlow.
My sheep being sold, and my money all gone,
Oh, I wandered about then quite sad and forlorn;
How I managed to live it would shock you to know,
And as thin as a lath got poor Billy Barlow.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
Quite down on his luck was poor Billy Barlow.
And in a few weeks more, the sheriff, you see,
Sent the tall man on horseback once more unto me;
Having got all he could by the writ of fi. fa.,
By way of a change he'd brought up a ca. sa.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
He seized on the body of Billy Barlow.
He took me to Sydney, and there they did lock
Poor unfortunate Billy fast "under the clock;"
And to get myself out I was forced, you must know
The schedule to file of poor Billy Barlow.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
In the list of insolvents was Billy Barlow.
Then once more I got free, but in poverty's toil;
I've no "cattle for salting," no "sheep for to boil;"
I can't get a job—though to any I'd stoop,
If it was only the making of portable soup."
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
Pray give some employment to Billy Barlow.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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This is a coup for commissioner Bud Selig. I'm surprised it's as good as it is.
quote by Fay Vincent
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At last, someone came to tell me I'd been selected as commissioner, which gave rise to the line that I took the job with clean hands. I was then taken downstairs to a press conference, and the reporters were as surprised as I was.
quote by Pete Rozelle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rather than saying that the commissioner is hired by the owners and therefore is subservient to them, you have to look at whether or not the players are getting a fair shake.
quote by Pete Rozelle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I feel, first of all, very privileged that these people think enough of me that they made me commissioner. And it's almost like, as Yogi Berra said, 'deja vu all over again.'
quote by Bobby Hull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hospitable Hosts
To thieve and take,
May increase one's social status...
Among thieves.
And there are plenty who fake,
Being more than just thieves.
But a gathering of thieves does not perfume the air.
No matter what is used to diffuse the stench...
Many are proud to stink so loudly.
As viewed with noses lifted high in despair.
To thieve and take,
May increase one's social status...
Among thieves.
And there are plenty who fake,
Being more than just thieves.
Some even pretend to be humanitarian.
If not tax deducting philanthropers.
However...
Those who know they are straight up crooks,
Are the most entertaining and hospitable hosts.
They ensure everyone is provided comfort.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pro football was taking off when I became commissioner, and when a sport's successful and you're its chief executive officer, much of the credit flows to you and you develop a good track record.
quote by Pete Rozelle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think the Commissioner is taking the steps necessary to give the game back to the players and the fans and hopefully take the league to the next level.
quote by Cobi Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't know if 1300 players could really participate in the selection of a commissioner, and I've never given it a great deal of thought. I think it's a logical point they could make, but it's only an academic one.
quote by Pete Rozelle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Andy's Gone With Cattle
Our Andy's gone to battle now
'Gainst Drought, the red marauder;
Our Andy's gone with cattle now
Across the Queensland border.
He's left us in dejection now;
Our hearts with him are roving.
It's dull on this selection now,
Since Andy went a-droving.
Who now shall wear the cheerful face
In times when things are slackest?
And who shall whistle round the place
When Fortune frowns her blackest?
Oh, who shall cheek the squatter now
When he comes round us snarling?
His tongue is growing hotter now
Since Andy cross'd the Darling.
The gates are out of order now,
In storms the `riders' rattle;
For far across the border now
Our Andy's gone with cattle.
Poor Aunty's looking thin and white;
And Uncle's cross with worry;
And poor old Blucher howls all night
Since Andy left Macquarie.
Oh, may the showers in torrents fall,
And all the tanks run over;
And may the grass grow green and tall
In pathways of the drover;
And may good angels send the rain
On desert stretches sandy;
And when the summer comes again
God grant 'twill bring us Andy.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Thieves In The Temple
{long version of thieves in the temple}
I'm holdin' on (i'm holdin' on) the best that i can
Love please, (let me be) let me be the better man
Better than the ones that wanna count me out
Better than the ones that don't know what my love's about
I'm talkin' 'bout the kinda love that can move a mountain
The kinda love that could part the sea
The kinda love that'll last 4 ever
(no matter what u say we should be together)
U should be with me (thieves in the temple)
Yeah, u should be with me
I said i wanna know (talk to me)
One thing (talk to me)
Said i wanna know (talk to me)
I wanna know one thing, baby (talk to me)
How come you said that i was your baby
When u and your love was gonna leave
U led me on, led me on thinkin' u was moses
Herding sheep blindly through a fantasy
U done me wrong (thieves in the temple)
And everybody knows it
Now the sound of my voice is pumpin' in your chest
More or less, i am here to tell u that
I am the best
Better than the rest
Better than the thieves in the temple tonight
Tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, hurt me
(put it in)
Thieves in the temple
Thieves in the temple
Thieves in the temple
Thieves in the temple tonight
Put your foot on the rock
Let me show you how to clock
Put your foot on the rock
Let me show you how to clock
Thieves in the temple
(what the....?)
Who got the party, who got the party, who?
Who got the party, who got the party, who?
Who got the party, who got the party, who?
Who got the party, who got the party, who?
(hurt me)
Thieves in the temple
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As a planning board commissioner, I have to review the applications for development throughout the city, and the bulk of those applications have been for the waterfront. I think the progress the waterfront has made is amazing.
quote by Vincent Frank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Adam Weirauch
I was crushed between Altgeld and Armour.
I lost many friends, much time and money
Fighting for Altgeld whom Editor Whedon
Denounced as the candidate of gamblers and anarchists.
Then Armour started to ship dressed meat to Spoon River,
Forcing me to shut down my slaughter-house,
And my butcher shop went all to pieces.
The new forces of Altgeld and Armour caught me
At the same time.
I thought it due me, to recoup the money I lost
And to make good the friends that left me,
For the Governor to appoint me Canal Commissioner.
Instead he appointed Whedon of the Spoon River Argus,
So I ran for the legislature and was elected.
I said to hell with principle and sold my vote
On Charles T. Yerkes' street-car franchise.
Of course I was one of the fellows they caught.
Who was it, Armour, Altgeld or myself
That ruined me?
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Remix American Wild West
there was a time
in American history
when horse thieves
were shot or hung
robber man who stole
your horse had stolen
your life your livelihood
your means of travel
survival you were left
as good as dead without
your horse in country
where horseback was life
there was a time
in American history
when cattle rustlers
were shot or hung
stealing beef on sly hoof
hot irons changing brands
fast rustled up retribution
justice from a rope hung
there was a time
in American history
when cruel range wars
were fought with guns
settlers driven off farmland
starved their crops ruined
their homes stolen burned
cattle grazed homesteaders
land cattle barons prospered
water rights grazing rights
unfenced unowned range land
farmers ranchers fought wars
frontier justice lynchings
local residents fought
fast gunmen hired bought
no weak law range wars
old west is time dead gone
rustlers free range modern
well executed wars oiled
Saddham to entrapment lead
attacks rich oil wells Kuwait
plan Bush deceived brilliant
Iraq Afghanistan Libya start
cruel foreign oil range wars
modern politicians hands clean
land cattle baron range rustlers
reside at plush 1600 Pennsylvania
Avenue NW stateless Washington
living immunity from range hits
octopus arms free range world
survival horseless you were left
for dead without your livelihood
there was a time
in American history
when horse thieves
were shot or hung
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Cost of justice
The command and the commissioner
The presidency and cabinet
Parliament and judicial committee
Judges and lawyer and prothonotary
National Prosecution Authority
Are all the cost of justice
Run round around rally
There’s no truth about you
You are motley
The justice that hide criminal
Justice that decorate crime
Showing it off like Vuvuzela at the stadium
Money is their lawyer
Position is their judgement
Bail is their imprisonment
Poor can’t afford bail
Innocent are behind the bars
Victim strike with the cost of justice
poem by Murendeni Mulaudzi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Joe The Black Cattle Dog
Old Joe the black cattle dog has known a better day
Around his jaws he is looking rather gray
He still works cattle but at a much slower pace
A young dog is being trained to take his place,
Old Joe a great cattle dog from a great working line
Is getting old for working cattle at nine
Though still keen to work nowadays he easily tire
The old legs tiring though he still has the desire
To work at cattle but his owner Jimmy say
That Joe is nearing his final working day
He will retire him he has done enough
At his age working cattle for him is too tough
He was a renowned working dog in his prime
But dog and master must bow to father time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Coming Down Hard On Crime
They're coming down hard on crime.
And this you can believe.
All eyes will open wide.
And deceit and thieves,
Will cease to be.
So hold your head erect!
And know this will happen soon.
And sing a happy song.
Knowing we'll soon be crook free!
Come from behind those bushes,
Children.
Come...
Come sing along with me!
The 'boogeyman' is gone.
They're coming down hard on crime.
Sing...
('Coming down hard on crime...')
And this you can believe.
('This we can believe...')
I think you've got it.
All eyes will open wide
('Our eyes are open wide...
And deceit and thieves have ceased to be.')
Very nice!
Yes...
Deceit and thieves.
('Yes deceit and thieves')
Yes...
Deceit and thieves.
('Yes deceit and thieves')
YES...
DECEIT and THIEVES.
('DECEIT and THIEVES')
Together and raise our voices high!
YES...
DECEIT and THIEVES...
HAVE CEASED
TO
BE!
Marvelous children!
Wasn't that a 'happy tune'?
NOTE:
Doesn't this remind you of 'something' from...
Let's see...
The Sound of Music?
Yes!
When the hills became alive with it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poor thieves in halters we behold; And great thieves in their chains of gold.