The run of Billabong-go-dry <br />Is just beyond Lime Burner's Gap; <br />Its waterhole and tank supply <br />Is excellent -- upon the map. <br />But lacking nature's liquid drench, <br />The station staff are wont to try <br />With "Bob-in Sweeps" their thirst to quench, <br />Or nearly quench, at Bong-go-dry. <br />The parson made five-yearly rounds <br />That soil of arid souls to delve, <br />He wrote, "I'll come for seven pounds, <br />Or I could stop away for twelve." <br />But lack of lucre brought about <br />The pusillanimous reply: <br />"Our luxuries are all cut out, <br />You'll have to go to Bong-go-dry." <br /> <br />Now rabbit skins were very high -- <br />There'd been a kind of rabbit rush -- <br />And what with traps and sticks they'd shy, <br />The station blacks were very flush, <br />And each was taught his churchman's job, <br />"When that one parson's plate comes roun' <br />No good you put in sprat or bob, <br />Too quick you put in harp-a-crown." <br /> <br />The parson's word was duly kept, <br />He came and did his bit of speak; <br />The boss remarked he hadn't slept <br />So sound and well for many a week. <br />But Gilgai Jack and Monkey Jaw <br />Regarded preaching as a crime <br />Against good taste; they said, "What for <br />That one chap yabber all the time?" <br /> <br />Proceedings ceased: the boss's hat <br />Was raked from underneath his chair; <br />The coloured congregation sat <br />And waited with expectant air. <br />At last from one far-distant seat <br />Where Gilgai's Mary'd been asleep, <br />There came a kind of plaintive bleat, <br />"Say, boss! Who won the harp-crown sweep?"<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/that-half-crown-sweep/
