Righto!
I'll give the game a go.
They say I should be circumspect; but I don't care a hang.
I'll bang
The cows in slang . .
'Ere! Wot's the game?
Don't this Australia want a decent name
For treatin' other blokes all on the square?
I wouldn't dare
To sell crook rabbits down in Spadger's land;
Fer, if the ole tarts down there should complain
Jist once, why, all me custom
Would go right up the pole.
Upon me soul!
Yeh see, I trust 'em
An' they trust me.
Because they say, 'This rabbito, why 'e
Gives us a dinkum spin.
'E wouldn't take us in.'
Now, ain't that nice?
I don't like givin' statesmen my advice,
But - well, I'm just an ord'nary sorter bloke,
Still, I think it is getting past a joke
When coves that earns reel decent livli'oods
Rings in crook goods
Jist 'cos it pays.
Aw, spare me days!
I got some sense of wot the 'eads calls pride,
An', for to do a snide,
Crook deal like that
I'd
Sooner eat me 'at.
Fair dinkum: when I sum the 'ole thing up.
But still, I sometimes think
That us blokes - toilin' for a bit of dough -
Gives the straight game a go
Better than all the 'eads who play a game
Wot gives Australia a rotten name.
Blimey! I sooner be -
(Now, let me see
Wot's this that Wordsworth says?)
Why, spare me days!
'I'd sooner be'
(Yes, me!)
'A pagan, s**led in some creed outworn,'
Than some smug Christain 'oo puts up to scorn
Australia's name.
Aw, strike! We play the game:
Us rabbitos. An' - on the square -
Even if I 'ad 'eaps of gilt to spare,
Like some of these
Exporters that I knows,
I wouldn't go
And play the game so low.
I'd not send one crook rabbit overseas,
No, not to please
A flamin' King;
It ain't the thing.
Desertin' Aussie is a dirty trick.