To show them high-toned seraphs
What a Mulga man can do.

If they saddles a big-boned angel,
With a turn of speed, of course,
As can spiel like a four-year brumbie,
And prop like an old camp horse,

And puts Bill up with a snaffle,
A four or five inch spur,
And eighteen foot of greenhide
To chop the blinded fur—

He’ll yard them blamed Angoras
In a way that it’s safe to swear
Will make them tony seraphs
Sit back on their thrones and stare.



SAM HOLT

(Air: “Ben Bolt.”)


Oh! don’t you remember Black Alice, Sam Holt—
Black Alice, so dusky and dark,
The Warrego gin, with the straw through her nose,
And teeth like a Moreton Bay shark.