Dwell, not with me,
For you’ll never see
More than a ’possum or a kangaroo,
And now and then a cockatoo.

Oh, would you wish,
Without a dish,
Your scanty meal from a piece of bark,
And a wood fire to illume the dark.

’Tis there you’d mourn,
’Tis there you’d mourn
The sweet woodbine
That round your lattice now doth twine.

Fond friends, don’t grieve
For scenes like these,
Or smart from bugs, mosquitoes, fleas.
Dwell not with me.

All you on emigration bent,
With home and England discontent,
Come, listen to my sad lament,
  All about the bush of Australia.
I once possessed a thousand pounds.
Thinks I—how very grand it sounds
For a man to be farming his own grounds
  In the beautiful land of Australia.

                Chorus

      Illawarra, Mittagong,
      Parramatta, Wollongong.
   If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
   Then go to the bush of Australia.

Upon the voyage the ship was lost.
In wretched plight I reached the coast,
And was very nigh being made a roast,
  By the savages of Australia.

And in the bush I lighted on
A fierce bushranger with his gun,
Who borrowed my garments, every one,
  For himself in the bush of Australia.

              Chorus

      Illawarra, Mittagong,
      Parramatta, Wollongong.
   If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
   Then go to the bush of Australia.

Sydney town I reached at last,
And now, thinks I, all danger’s past,
And I shall make my fortune fast
  In this promising land of Australia.
I quickly went with cash in hand,
Upon the map I chose my land.
When I got there ’twas barren sand
  In the beautiful land of Australia.

              Chorus

      Illawarra, Mittagong,
      Parramatta, Wollongong-
   If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
   Then go to the bush of Australia.

Of sheep I got a famous lot.
Some died of hunger, some of rot,
For the devil a drop of rain they got,
  In this flourishing land of Australia.
My convict men were always drunk,
They kept me in a constant funk.
Says I to myself, as to bed I slunk,
  How I wish I was out of Australia!

               Chorus

       Booligal, Gobarralong,
       Emu Flat and Jugiong.
   If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
   Then go to the bush of Australia.

Of ills, enough I’ve had you’ll own.
And then at last, my woes to crown,
One night my log house was blown down
  That settled us all in Australia
And now of home and all bereft,
The horrid spot I quickly left,
Making it over by deed of gift
  To the savages of Australia.

               Chorus

       Booligal, Gobarralong,
       Emu Flat and Jugiong.
   If you wish to become an ourang-outang,
   Then go to the bush of Australia

I gladly worked my passage home,
And now to England back I’ve come,
Determined never more to roam,
  At least, to the bush of Australia.
And stones upon the road I’ll break,
And earn my seven bob a week,
Which is surely better than the freak
  Of settling down in Australia.

              Chorus

      Currabubula, Bogolong,
      Ulladulla, Gerringong.
  If you wouldn’t become an ourang-outang,
  Don’t go to the bush of Australia.

Oh, we started down from Roto when the sheds had all cut
    out.
We’d whips and whips of Rhino as we meant to push about,
So we humped our blues serenely and made for Sydney
    town,
With a three-spot cheque between us, as wanted knocking
    down.

                       Chorus

  But we camped at Lazy Harry’s, on the road to Gundagai
  The road to Gundagai!  Not five miles from Gundagai!
  Yes, we camped at Lazy Harry’s, on the road to Gundagai.

Well, we struck the Murrumbidgee near the Yanko in a
    week,
And passed through old Narrandera and crossed the Burnet
    Creek.
And we never stopped at Wagga, for we’d Sydney in our eye.


But we camped at Lazy Harry’s, on the road to Gundagai.
  Chorus: But we camped, &c.

Oh, I’ve seen a lot of girls, my boys, and drunk a lot of beer,
And I’ve met with some of both, chaps, as has left me mighty
    queer;
But for beer to knock you sideways, and for girls to make
    you sigh,
You must camp at Lazy Harry’s, on the road to Gundagai.

Well, we chucked our blooming swags off, and we walked
    into the bar,
And we called for rum-an’-raspb’ry and a shilling each cigar.
But the girl that served the pizen, she winked at Bill and I—
And we camped at Lazy Harry’s,  not five miles from
    Gundagai.

In a week the spree was over and the cheque was all knocked
    down,
So we shouldered our “Matildas,” and we turned our backs
    on town,
And the girls they stood a nobbler as we sadly said “Good
    bye,”
And we tramped from Lazy Harry’s, not five miles from
    Gundagai;

          Chorus: And we tramped, &c.

I’ve shore at Burrabogie, and I’ve shore at Toganmain,
I’ve shore at big Willandra and upon the old Coleraine,
But before the shearin’ was over I’ve wished myself back,
    again
Shearin’ for old Tom Patterson, on the One Tree Plain.

                    Chorus

  All among the wool, boys,
  Keep your wide blades full, boys,
  I can do a respectable tally myself whenever I like to try,
  But they know me round the back blocks as Flash Jack
    from Gundagai.

I’ve shore at big Willandra and I’ve shore at Tilberoo,
And once I drew my blades, my boys, upon the famed Barcoo,
At Cowan Downs and Trida, as far as Moulamein,
But I always was glad to get back again to the One Tree
    Plain.

  Chorus: All among the wool, &c.

I’ve pinked ’em with the Wolseleys and I’ve rushed with
    B-bows, too,
And shaved ’em in the grease, my boys, with the grass seed
    showing through.
But I never slummed my pen, my lads, whate’er it might
    contain,
While shearin’ for old Tom Patterson, on the One Tree Plain.

I’ve been whalin’ up the Lachlan, and I’ve dossed on