Oh the flies! Oh the flies!
How they tease and tantalize,
And with what determination
They keep poking in our eyes;
From the earliest dawn of day,
Till the evening’s sober grey,
The maddening little creatures
Feast and fasten on our features,
Keep on tickling and tormenting,
In a manner most dementing,
Spite of growl and spite of groan,
Spite of flesh, and blood, and bone,
Spite of cages made to catch them,
Spite of smoke from ‘cutty’ blown.
What boasts Australia’s golden sands?
Her lauded sunny skies,
When we’re fretted into fiddle strings
With swarms of plaguing flies.