The first remark was like a stab
    That fell his ear upon,
’Twas—‘There’s another something scab
    ‘The boss has taken on!’
They couldn’t let the towny be—
    They sneered like anything;
They’d mock him when he’d sound the ‘g’
    In words that end in ‘ing.’

There came a man from Ironbark,
    And at the shed he shore;
He scoffed his victuals like a shark,
    And like a fiend he swore.
He’d shorn his flowing beard that day—
    He found it hard to reap—
Because ’twas hot and in the way
    While he was shearing sheep.
His loaded fork in grimy holt
    Was poised, his jaws moved fast,
Impatient till his throat could bolt
    The mouthful taken last.
He couldn’t stand a something toff;
    Much less a jackaroo;
And swore to take the trimmings off
    The Man from Waterloo.

The towny saw he must be up
    Or else be underneath,
And so one day, before them all,
    He dared to clean his teeth.
The men came running from the shed,
    And shouted, ‘Here’s a lark!’
‘It’s gone to clean its tooties!’ said
    The man from Ironbark.
His feeble joke was much enjoyed;
    He sneered as bullies do,
And with a scrubbing-brush he guyed
    The Man from Waterloo.

The Jackaroo made no remark
    But peeled and waded in,
And soon the Man from Ironbark
    Had three teeth less to grin!
And when they knew that he could fight
    They swore to see him through,
Because they saw that he was right—
    The Man from Waterloo.

Now in a shop in Sydney, near
    The Bottle on the Shelf,
The tale is told—with trimmings—by
    The Jackaroo himself.
‘They made my life a hell,’ he said;
    ‘They wouldn’t let me be;
They set the bully of the shed
    ‘To take it out of me.

‘The dirt was on him like a sheath,
    ‘He seldom washed his phiz;
‘He sneered because I cleaned my teeth—
    ‘I guess I dusted his!
‘I treated them as they deserved—
    ‘I signed on one or two!
‘They won’t forget me soon,’ observed
    The Man from Waterloo.