RANDY BILL FROM FUCK-ALL RANGE
(Taught to me by my father, author unknown)

‘Twas Randy Bill from Fuck-all Range making his way to town,
His pennies wrapped in oily rag and the skin of his arse burnt brown.
Now Bill’s been shearing in no-man’s land for nearly a whole darned year;
Away from the footlights glare, from women and fighting beer:

Well he took his way to the local pub and shedding his billy and swag,
‘I’ll pay ten bob for a beer’ he said ‘and fifteen more for a shag’.
Well the landlord poured him his pint of beer and said ‘I’m sorry to state;’
‘If you’ve come here for a grind old man, you’re just six weeks too late;’

‘For there isn’t a woman for miles around except for the old tub Liz,
And she’s in dock undergoing repairs, and nobody runs the biz.’
Well Bill saw red, his fist shot out and the landlord he dropped like a log;
And Johnny Smith, from the Smithy shop said ‘Bill you dirty dog.’

Well Smith took a swipe at Bill, but Bill side stepped and ducked,
And everyone standing in the bar knew Smith was as good as fucked.
They fought there with ferocious hate, tooth, elbow, claw and knee;
All the way down to the backyard gate, and down to the WC:

Now Smith was as fit as a buckling steer, but Bill, he was fighting fit;
He grabbed Smith by the scruff of the pants and shoved his eye in the shit.
He shagged the Landlord; he shagged his kids; two stray dogs and a couple of pigs:
And I often laugh as I wonder how; we pulled old Bill out of O’Grady’s cow.

Now Bill’s gone back to no-man’s away a from the maddening crowd;
His guts fermented with rotten beer and the head of his penis proud:
But I suppose we’ll see him in twelve months time trudging his way to town,
His pennies wrapped in oily rag, and the skin of his arse burnt brown.

Forwarded in February 2008 by A.R. [Lex] Fullarton

Contributor's Note: This is an old poem that my father taught me when I was a kid. I have no idea where he got it from. It was passed on from word of mouth. The story seems pretty typical of the shearers and bushies that I knew as a kid. Unfortunately I don’t think it is publishable but I thought you might like to chuck it away somewhere for use on appropriate occasions. Always worth a beer in the pub I found.

Webmaster's Note: Because this poem captures the inimitable larrikinism of the Aussie Bushman as portrayed by the Aussie Bush Poet and is part of the essence of Australia - language and all - I disregarded Lex's concerns about the appropriateness of adding the poem to the IWVPA website. In my opinion, any reader who is offended by the words knows very little about the natural irreverence and wry humour that are a unique part of the Aussie Spirit!