Emigration and Free Settlers more view 2
source: recorded in Paterson’s ‘Old Bush Songs’
and Stewart & Keesing offer another, supposedly from 1857, however this possibly is the original.
SITE SOURCE: GOLD, EMIGRATION AND FREE SELECTION
Don’t Go To The Bush Of Australia
(The: King of The Cannibal Isle)
Now all intent to emigrate,
Come listen to the doleful fate,
Which did befall me of late,
When I went to the wilds of Australia.
I sailed across the stormy main,
And often wished myself back again,
I really think I was quite insane
When I went to the bush of Australia.
Illawarra, Moneroo, Parramatta Woolloomaloo (sic),
If you wouldn’t become a kangaroo,
Don’t go to the bush of Australia.
One never knows what does await,
For just as we entered Bass’s Strait,
We lost the half of our crew, and our mate,
As we sailed to the bush of Australia.
The vessel struck on a bank of sand,
And when we drifted to the land,
We soon were surrounded by a band
Of savages in Australia,
But I was so starved I look’d like a ghost,
I didn’t weigh more than four stone at most,
Thank heaven! I wasn’t fit for a roast,
For the cannibals in Australia.
So to Sydney town I travelled then,
The Governor gave me some convict men,
And I set off to live in a den
In the dismal bush of Australia.
And when I came to look at the land,
Which I got by his Excellency’s command,
I found it was nothing but burning sand,
Like all the rest of Australia.
But I bought a flock of sheep at last,
And thought that my troubles were past,
But you may believe I stood aghast,
When they died of the rot in Australia.
My convicts were always drinking rum,
I often wished they were up a gum-
Tree – or that I had never come,
To the horrible bush of Australia.
The bushrangers my hut attacked,
And they were by my convicts back’d,
And my log hut was fairly sack’d
Of all I had got in Australia.
A thousand or two don’t go a long way,
When every one robs you in open day,
And the bankers all fail and mizzle away
From the capital of Australia.
And it’s not very easy to keep your cash,
When once in twelvemonth your agent goes smash,
And bolts to New Zealand, or gets a whitewash;
It’s a way that they have in Australia.
So articles I signed at last,
And work’d as a man before the mast;
And back to England I came full fast,
And left the confounded Australia.
To sell a few matches from door to door,
Would certainly be a very great bore,
But I’ve made up my mind to do that before
I’ll go back to the bush of Australia.