THE LAMENT OF THE SWAGGER.

Otago Witness, 5 December 1900, Page 69

THE LAMENT OF THE SWAGGER.

They are splitting up the stations For a lot of cockatoos; - !Nbw it's hard for a swagger chap To know where to get a snooze, For the huts that there were In the good, old, happy days, Are scattered here and there ■ In a hundred different ways. . We little thought or dreamt We should live this day to see, So what does it mean, mate, To the likes of you and me? We earned our money easy In the days that are gone, And \ve made a slashing cheque When the shearing was on. If it so happened We were down upon our luck, We couia always, at the station, Get a bite and a sup, And we always had the cash For a good old Christmas spree, Those were the times, mate, For the likes of you and me. 2now things are only middlin', Since the Government made a stand, And determined to settle Cockatoos on the land. They have no- work, they say, For swagger coves like us; If you ask them for a meal, They make a deuced fuss; Things are mighty different From what they used io he, And it comes pretty hard, mate, On the likes of you and me. You hear politicians talk Of the sight that meets your gaze, Men and women living Where sheep and cattle' used to graze; They speak of the farmer, With his boiiny little wife, Bringing up their children In the simple, country life. And it all sounds very beautiful When the spoutei's tongue wags free; But what has that to do, mate, With the likes of you and me ? We ain't got a wife io keep, We haven't got; a home; Packed up in our blueys Are all the goods wo own. Tc^fell the simple troth, Though you may think it sad, We haven't got a block of land — Couldn't farm it if we had. We tried to save our bit of stuff, But it was not to be, Isn't that about it, mate, With the likes of you and me? In building up the country Perhaps we ye done our share ; Perhaps it's no fault of ours This load we have to bear. So they'll have to help us somehow, In the way that they think bast, They'll have to spend a bob or two Before they lay us down to rest. We'll get an old-age pension, And we'll live on charity, That is what is coming, mate, For the likes of you and me. But we'll get our hit of land, I put it to you straight — We'll have our six by two, And we won't have long to wait. We are growing old and feeble, Soon our room will be to let, The Lord will call upon us To pack up and do a get. JWe shall come into our own, As the Scotch say, when we "dee," That's the only consolation, mate, For the likes of you and me. —ARCH. M. M'NICOL.

Merton, November 19,