THE MACHINE-MAN'S LAMENT

I'm working at Carrar Scour

   For Ladbury & Co.,

The wages are Five two and six

   With scant thrown in you know.

 

At a quarter past seven , the whistle blows

   Then you rub your weary eyes,

And stagger to the galley

   Whereat the tucker lies.

 

The cook he greets you warmly

   With a grin upon his dial,

There's steak and sausages, curry & rice,

   Why boys we live in style.

 

Then over to the works you roam

   And grab your poking stick,

To keep those creepers from wool,

   While the smell it turns you sick.

 

The shift boss opens the feeder up

   'Till she's right out to her top,

He pushes through thirty odd a day

   And curses if she stops.

 

The driver keeps the steam up

   With a knack that's all his own,

And he's longing for the cut-out

   When he'll be roaming home.

 

The yard gang have a merry time

   Rolling the bales all day,

Or filling the hold with iron bark wood

   With 'Blutcher' in the dray.

 

The presses earn their money

   With their bandy legs so bare,

And when they do three hundred a week

   I'll say that's pretty fair.

   

The shift boss strolls around all day

   Smelling wool, and bringing soda,

To empty into number two

   To make that nasty odour.

 

The feeder man has the softest job

   Around that noisy place,

And he pushes away at the wool all day

   With a smile on his beaded old face.

 

The cowboy never said swear words

   He was all bally bitches,

And every night he rides to town

   To the dance, or play, or pictures.

 

And so all day the machine we'd watch

   Keep those belts and rollers turning,

Or knock the wallop off the rakes

   While for four o'clock we're yearning.

 

At night we read the daily mail

   Or played a game of Chess,

Smoko, then retired to bed

   For our well earned nightly rest.

 

Saturday comes, we'd draw our finn

   Then motor into town,

To play at pool or billiards

   Or keep a couple down.

 

We indulged in games of chances

   Just to pass away the days,

So at either dice or pennies

   Every week we done our pays.

 

And thus we passed the weekend

   We'd return out home once more,

With no more money on us

   Then we had the week before.