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Henry Lawson - The Song Of Old Joe Swallow
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When I was up the country in the rough and early days, 
I used to work along ov Jimmy Nowlett`s bullick-drays; 
Then the reelroad wasn`t heered on, an` the bush was wild an` strange, 
An` we useter draw the timber from the saw-pits in the range — 
Load provisions for the stations, an` we`d travel far and slow 
Through the plains an` `cross the ranges in the days of long ago. 
 
    Then it`s yoke up the bullicks and tramp beside `em slow, 
    An` saddle up yer horses an` a-ridin` we will go, 
    To the bullick-drivin`, cattle-drovin`, 
    Nigger, digger, roarin`, rovin` 
    Days o` long ago. 
 
Once me and Jimmy Nowlett loaded timber for the town, 
But we hadn`t gone a dozen mile before the rain come down, 
An` me an` Jimmy Nowlett an` the bullicks an` the dray 
Was cut off on some risin` ground while floods around us lay; 
An` we soon run short of tucker an` terbacca, which was bad, 
An` pertaters dipped in honey was the only tuck we had. 
 
An` half our bullicks perished when the drought was on the land, 
An` the burnin` heat that dazzles as it dances on the sand; 
When the sun-baked clay an` gravel paves for miles the burnin` creeks, 
An` at ev`ry step yer travel there a rottin` carcase reeks — 
But we pulled ourselves together, for we never used ter know 
What a feather bed was good for in those days o` long ago. 
 
But in spite ov barren ridges an` in spite ov mud an` heat, 
An` dust that browned the bushes when it rose from bullicks` feet, 
An` in spite ov cold and chilblains when the bush was white with frost, 
An` in spite of muddy water where the burnin` plain was crossed, 
An` in spite of modern progress, and in spite of all their blow, 
`Twas a better land to live in, in the days o` long ago. 
 
When the frosty moon was shinin` o`er the ranges like a lamp, 
An` a lot of bullick-drivers was a-campin` on the camp, 
When the fire was blazin` cheery an` the pipes was drawin` well, 
Then our songs we useter chorus an` our yarns we useter tell; 
An` we`d talk ov lands we come from, and ov chaps we useter know, 
For there always was behind us OTHER days o` long ago. 
 
Ah, them early days was ended when the reelroad crossed the plain, 
But in dreams I often tramp beside the bullick-team again: 
Still we pauses at the shanty just to have a drop er cheer, 
Still I feels a kind ov pleasure when the campin`-ground is near; 
Still I smells the old tarpaulin me an` Jimmy useter throw 
O`er the timber-truck for shelter in the days ov long ago. 
 
I have been a-driftin` back`ards with the changes ov the land, 
An` if I spoke ter bullicks now they wouldn`t understand, 
But when Mary wakes me sudden in the night I`ll often say: 
`Come here, Spot, an` stan` up, Bally, blank an` blank an` come-eer-way.` 
An` she says that, when I`m sleepin`, oft my elerquince `ill flow 
In the bullick-drivin` language ov the days o` long ago. 
 
Well, the pub will soon be closin`, so I`ll give the thing a rest; 
But if you should drop on Nowlett in the far an` distant west — 
An` if Jimmy uses doubleyou instead of ar an` vee, 
An` if he drops his aitches, then you`re sure to know it`s he. 
An` yer won`t forgit to arsk him if he still remembers Joe 
As knowed him up the country in the days o` long ago. 
 
    Then it`s yoke up the bullicks and tramp beside `em slow, 
    An` saddle up yer horses an` a-ridin` we will go, 
    To the bullick-drivin`, cattle-drovin`, 
    Nigger, digger, roarin`, rovin` 
    Days o` long ago.
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