Freedom on the Wallaby


Henry Lawson

OUR FATHERS toiled for bitter bread
    While idlers thrived beside them;
But food to eat and clothes to wear
    Their native land denied them.
They left their native land in spite
    Of royalties’ regalia,
And so they came, or if they stole
    Were sent out to Australia.

They struggled hard to make a home,
    Hard grubbing ’twas and clearing.
They weren’t troubled much with toffs
    When they were pioneering;
And now that we have made the land
    A garden full of promise,
Old greed must crook his dirty hand
    And come to take it from us.

But Freedom’s on the Wallaby,
    She’ll knock the tyrants silly,
She’s going to light another fire
    And boil another billy.
We’ll make the tyrants feel the sting
    Of those that they would throttle;
They needn’t say the fault is ours
    If blood should stain the wattle.

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