We've travelled per Joe Gardiner, a humping of our swag <br />In the country of the Gidgee and Belar. <br />We've swum the Di'mantina with our raiment in a bag, <br />And we've travelled per superior motor car, <br />But when we went to Germany we hadn't any choice, <br />No matter what our training or pursuits, <br />For they gave us no selection 'twixt a Ford or Rolls de Royce <br />So we did it in our good Australian boots. <br />They called us "mad Australians"; they couldn't understand <br />How officers and men could fraternise, <br />Thay said that we were "reckless", we were "wild, and out of hand", <br />With nothing great or sacred to our eyes. <br />But on one thing you could gamble, in the thickest of the fray, <br />Though they called us volunteers and raw recruits, <br />You could track us past the shell holes, and the tracks were all one way <br />Of the good Australian ammunition boots. <br /> <br />The Highlanders were next of kin, the Irish were a treat, <br />The Yankees knew it all and had to learn, <br />The Frenchmen kept it going, both in vict'ry and defeat, <br />Fighting grimly till the tide was on the turn. <br />And our army kept beside 'em, did its bit and took its chance, <br />And I hailed our newborn nation and its fruits, <br />As I listened to the clatter on the cobblestones of France <br />Of the good Australian military boots.<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/boots-2/
