Now, shearers' cooks, as shearers know, <br />Are very seldom wont to blow; <br />But when I took to dabbing tar <br />And "picking-up" on Blaringar, <br />The cook, when "barbers" came at morn <br />To get a snack, would say, with scorn: <br /> "Tea on the left, <br /> Coffee on the right, <br />Brownie on the bunk, and blast yez!" <br /> <br />The "bunk" or slab was in the hut, <br />And on it "brownie" ready cut; <br />Two buckets o'er the fire would be - <br />One filled with coffee, one with tea; <br />And when the chaps came filing in <br />The cook would say, with mirthless grin: <br /> "Tea on the left, <br /> Coffee on the right, <br />Brownie on the bunk, and blast yez!" <br /> <br />Peculiar man, this shearers' cook, <br />And had a very ugly look. <br />To me - a new-chum rouseabout, <br />Said he, one day when all were out: <br />"There's nothing in this world, my lad, <br />That's worth your worry, good or bad; <br /> Grief on the left, <br /> Sorrow on the right, <br />Trouble on the bunk, but blast it!"<br /><br />William Thomas Goodge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-shearer-s-cook/
