Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
The Swagman
Kind friends, pray give attention
To this, my little song.
Some rum things I will mention,
And I'll not detain you long.
Up and down this country
I travel, don't you see,
I'm a swagman on the wallaby,
Oh! don't you pity me.
I'm a swagman on the wallaby,
Oh! don't you pity me.
At first I started shearing,
And I bought a pair of shears.
On my first sheep appearing,
Why, I cut off both its ears.
Then I nearly skinned the brute,
As clean as clean could he.
So I was kicked out of the shed,
Oh! don't you pity me, &c.
I started station loafing,
Short stages and took my ease;
So all day long till sundown
I'd camp beneath the trees.
Then I'd walk up to the station,
The manager to see.
"Boss, I'm hard up and I want a job,
Oh! don't you pity me," &c.
Says the overseer: "Go to the hut.
Says the overseer: "Go to the hut.
In the morning I'll tell you
If I've any work about
I can find for you to do."
But at breakfast I cuts off enough
For dinner, don't you see.
And then my name is Walker.
Oh! don't you pity me.
I'm a swagman, &c.
And now, my friends, I'll say good-bye,
For I must go and camp.
For if the Sergeant sees me
He may take me for a tramp;
But if there's any covey here
What's got a cheque, d'ye see,
I'll stop and help him smash it.
Oh! don't you pity me.
I'm a swagman on the wallaby,
Oh! don't you pity me.
poem
by
Andrew Barton Paterson
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black