Click Go the Shears

Out on the board the old shearer stands,

Grasping his shears in his thin bony hands,

Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied Joe

Glory, if he gets her, won't he make the ringer go!



Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,

Wide is his blow and his hands move quick,

The ringer looks around but he's beaten by a blow

And curses the old swagger with the blue-bellied Joe


The tar boy is there, waiting in demand

With his blackened tar-pot in his tarry hand:

He sees one old sheep with a cut upon its back

This is what he's waiting for, it's "Tar here, Jack!"


In the middle of the board in his cane bottomed chair

Sits the boss of the board, with his eyes everywhere

Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen

Pays strict attention that it's taken off clean.


The Colonial Experience Man, he's there of course

With his shiny leggings like he's just off his horse

Casting 'round his eyes, like a real connoisseur,

Whistling the old tune, "I'm a perfect lure."


Well, the shearing is over, we've all got our checks

Roll up your swags, boys, we're off on the tracks

The first pub we come to, it's there we'll have a spree

And everyone who comes along itís, "Come and drink with me!."