When the cranky German waggon, <br />With its ten or fifteen bag on <br />Comes a-jerkin’ and a-joltin’ down the dusty, limestone street, <br />And the “Norther’s” blowin’ blindin’, <br />And the rollers are a-grindin’, <br />And the agent jabs his sampler thro’ the sackin’ to the wheat, <br />Let ’em slide along the plank! slide along! slide along! <br />Sixty bushels for the Bank; slide along! <br /> <br />When your back is fairly breakin’ <br />And your very fingers shakin’ <br />With the heavin’, heavin’, heavin’, in the blarsted, blazin’ sun; <br />And the agent finds the spots out <br />And takes all his sample lots out <br />Where its rusty, pinched, or smutty—knockin’ off five pound a ton; <br />Sling ’em over with a jerk! slide along! slide along! <br />Sixty days of wasted work! slide along! <br /> <br />Sixty days a-ploughin’ mallee <br />In the God-forgotten valley <br />Of the creepin’, crawlin’ Murray, with the dingoes for your mates! <br />Sow and harrow, roll and reap it, <br />But you get no show to keep it, <br />For it’s “Boom and bust yer biler” when the cocky speculates! <br />Let the bankers take the lot: slide along! slide along! <br />Farmin’ mallee’s bloomin’ rot—slide along!<br /><br />Charles Henry Soutar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/harvest-time-8/
