Broken-Down Squatter                     

Come, Stumpy old man, letís shift while we can

All your mates in the paddock are dead

Let us bid our farewells to Glen Eira's sweet dells

And the place where your master was bred

No more will we roam our drought-stricken home

It's hard that such things have to be

And it's hard on a horse when heís nought for a boss

But a broken-down squatter like me


For the banks are all broken they say

And the merchants are all up a tree

When the big-wigs are brought

To the Bankruptcy Court

What chance for a squatter like me


No more will we muster the river for fats

Or spiel on the Fifteen Mile Plain

Or rip through the scrub by the light of the moon

Or see the old stockyard again

Leave the slip-panels down, it won't matter much now

Thereís none but the crows left to see

Sitting gaunt on yon pine, as though longing to dine

On a broken-down squatter like me


When the country was cursed with the drought at its worst

And the cattle were dying in scores

Though down on my luck, I kept up my pluck

Thinking justice might temper the laws

But the farce has been played, and the Government aid

Ain't extended to squatters, old son

When my money was spent, they doubled the rent

And resumed the best half of my run


'Twas done without reason, for, leaving the season,

No squatter could stand such a rub

And it's useless to squat when the rents are so hot

That you can't make the price of your grub

And there's not much to choose 'twixt the banks and the screws

When a fellow gets put up a tree

Itís no use what I feel, there's no Court of Appeal

For a broken-down squatter like me