Queensland Whalers

Harry Robertson


I've sailed the North Atlantic, where ice blows in the breeze.

And roamed the Dutch West Indies in the calm blue sunny seas.

When I think of ships and seamen, my thoughts return again

To a season spent in Moreton Bay with Queensland whaling men.



Sing ho, you Queensland whalers, you’ve cut the sugar cane,

And drove the herds of cattle o'er the dry and dusty plain.

You've dug the ore at Isa, laid countless miles of rail,

And now you come to Moreton Bay to catch the humpback whale.


For men who've chased the brumbies, caught bullocks by the tail

It really is no problem to catch a humpback whale.

Just spur your iron sea-horse, put the gun through rigging struts

And when he runs from the coral scrub, you belt him in the guts.


The man up in the crow's nest, as whaling legends go,

Looks out across the water with a cry of, "There she blows,"

But here in sunny Queensland you'll often hear them shout

"There goes a bloody beauty, mate, so get your finger out.'


From Moreton to Caloundra bronze whaler sharks abound

They wait like dingoes in the scrub for a wounded beast that's down.

But their taste for blood and savagery, it never could compare

With the bite that Inland Revenue takes from our bonus share.


When fuel tanks are running low, we head to Brisbane town

And head to the nearest boozer our sorrows for to drown.

With beer and fiery whisky, and plonk of vintage rare

We steer a steady zigzag course without a bloody care.


Hoorah! The season's over, and we can all return

We’ll see our wives and sweethearts and have a little fun.

We'll rant like cattle drovers, we'll roar like whaling men,

And when the season starts next year you'll find us back again.