Author: Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

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    Come, all ye lads an list to me,
    Thats left your homes an crossed the sea,
    To try your fortune, bound or free,
        All in this golden land.
    For twelve long months I had to pace,
    Humping my swag with a cadging face,
    Sleeping in the bush, like the sable race,
        As in my song youll understand.

    Unto this country I did come,
    A regular out-and-out new chum.
    I then abhorred the sight of rum
        Teetotal was my plan.
    But soon I learned to wet one eye
    Misfortune oft-times made me sigh.
    To raise fresh funds I was forced to fly,
        And be a squatters man.

    Soon at a station I appeared.
    I saw the squatter with his beard,
    And up to him I boldly steered,
        With my swag and billy-can.

    I said, Kind sir, I want a job!
    Said he, Do you know how to snob
    Or can you break in a bucking cob?
        Whilst my figure he well did scan.

    Tis now I want a useful cove
    To stop at home and not to rove.
    The scamps go abouta regular drove
        I spose youre one of the clan?
    But Ill give tenten, sugar an tea;
    Ten bob a week, if youll suit me,
    And very soon I hope youll be
        A handy squatters man.

    At daylight you must milk the cows,
    Make butter, cheese, an feed the sows,
    Put on the kettle, the cook arouse,
        And clean the family shoes.
    The stable an sheep yard clean out,
    And always answer when we shout,
    With Yes, maam, and    No, sir, mind your mouth;
        And my youngsters dont abuse.

    You must fetch wood an water, bake an boil,
    Act as butcher when we kill;
    The corn an taters you must hill,
        Keep the garden spick and span.

    You must not scruple in the rain
    To take to market all the grain.
    Be sure you come sober back again
        To be a squatters man.

    He sent me to an old bark hut,
    Inhabited by a greyhound slut,
    Who put her fangs through my poor fut,
        And, snarling, off she ran.
    So once more Im looking for a job,
    Without a copper in my fob.
    With Ben Hall or Gardiner Id rather rob,
        Than be a squatters man.

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Type of Poem: Ballad

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poem offers an intriguing narrative, as it tells the story of a man who leaves his home to seek fortune in a new, unfamiliar land. The primary theme that emerges is the harsh reality of the immigrant experience, particularly the disillusionment that can occur when expectations and reality clash. The protagonist initially approaches his journey with hope and enthusiasm, reflected in the energetic rhythm and rhyme of the poem, but this quickly gives way to disappointment and frustration.

The poet employs colloquial language and regional dialect, which lends authenticity to the protagonist's voice and deepens the reader's immersion in his world. Repetition of the phrase "squatter's man" is particularly effective, emphasizing the protagonist's grudging acceptance of his lowly status and the drudgery of his daily tasks. His disillusionment is further accentuated through vivid, often bleak, imagery ("Sleeping in the bush, like the sable race"). The poem concludes with a sense of rebellion and defiance, suggesting the protagonist's refusal to be subjugated by his circumstances. Overall, the narrative poem is a compelling exploration of the struggles faced by immigrants, combined with a critique of exploitation and class disparity.