If we find a mob of horses when the paddock rails are down,
Although before they’re never known to stray,
Oh, quickly will we drive them to some distant inland town,
And sell them into slav’ry far away.

Chorus

To Jack Robertson we’ll say
You’ve been leading us astray,
And we’ll never go a-farming any more;
For it’s easier duffing cattle on the little piece of land
Free selected on the Eumerella shore.



JIMMY SAGO, JACKAROO

(Air: “Wearing of the Green.”)


If you want a situation, I’ll just tell you the plan
To get on to a station, I am just your very man.
Pack up the old portmanteau, and label it Paroo,
With a name aristocratic—Jimmy Sago, Jackaroo.

When you get on to the station, of small things you’ll make
a fuss,
And in speaking of the station, mind, it’s we, and ours, and
us.