Remember, no matter how far you may roam,
That dogs, goats, and chickens, it's simply the dickens
Their talent stupendous for "getting back home".
Your sins, without doubt, will aye find you out,
And so will a scapegoat, he's bound to achieve it --
But, die in the wilderness? Don't you believe it!
An Evening in Dandaloo
It was while we held our races --
Hurdles, sprints and steeplechases --
Up in Dandaloo,
That a crowd of Sydney stealers,
Jockeys, pugilists and spielers
Brought some horses, real heelers,
Came and put us through.
Beat our nags and won our money,
Made the game by no means funny,
Made us rather blue;
When the racing was concluded,
Of our hard-earned coin denuded
Dandaloonies sat and brooded
There in Dandaloo.
. . . . .
Night came down on Johnson's shanty
Where the grog was no means scanty,
And a tumult grew
Till some wild, excited person
Galloped down the township cursing,
"Sydney push have mobbed Macpherson,
Roll up, Dandaloo!"
Great St. Denis! what commotion!
Like the rush of stormy ocean
Fiery horsemen flew.
Dust and smoke and din and rattle,
Down the street they spurred their cattle
To the war-cry of the battle,
"Wade in, Dandaloo!"
So the boys might have their fight out,
Johnson blew the bar-room light out,
Then, in haste, withdrew.
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