YE landlords of the cities that are builded by the sea—
You toady “Representative”, you careless absentee—
I come, a scout from Borderland, to warn you of a change,
To tell you of the spirit that is roused beyond the range;
I come from where on western plains the lonely homesteads stand,
To tell you of the coming of the Natives of the Land!
                Of the land we’re living in,
                The Natives of the Land.
For Australian men are gathering—they are joining hand in hand!
Don’t you hear the battle cooey of the Natives of the Land?

I’ve watched the march of Humbug here, I saw each evil sign
With eyes that ran a banker filled with hot, rebellious brine.
I saw the city mansions built on misery in slums—
The March of Greed and Poverty far out beneath the gums;
I saw the southern slaver-ship go sailing from the strand,
And listened for the war-cry of the Natives of the Land—
                Of the land we’re living in,
                The Natives of the Land;
But Australian men are coming for the rights that men demand;
There’s the blood of many nations in the Natives of the Land.

“It’s live or die!” you’ll hear ’em sing, “so let the war begin
For the rights of man and woman, and the land we’re living in.
It’s right or wrong,” you’ll hear ’em sing, “we’ll test it once again
Ere Greed shall rob the gardens where our mothers worked like men.”
And Eastward shall the army come with eyes all flashing grand
When Freedom’s marching orders reach the Natives of the Land—
                Of the land we’re living in,
                The Natives of the Land.
They’ll sing a rebel chorus yet and play it on a band,
For the spirit of the country moves the Natives of the Land.