The mental image of the burly shearer grabbing his better half in his sleep, and then proceeding to shear her, always brings a smile to my dial. I especially like the line where the terrified woman ‘dares not kick or wriggle, she’d seen him shear before’.
Old Bill the shearer had been ‘phoned
To hop the train next day;
Had a pen at Munglndi,
An early start for May.
He rolled his swag and packed his bag,
Then scurried off to bed.
But sleep he could not steal a wink,
To sooth his aching head.
He heard the missus snoring hard,
He heard the ticking clock;
Heard a midnight train blow in,
Then heard a crowing cock.
At last Bill In a stupor lay,
A dreaming now was he:
All drawn for pens and loaded up –
He shore in number three.
He grabbed the missus in his sleep,
Then shore her like a ewe.
The first performance soon was done,
Then up the neck he flew.
As he turned to longblow her
Like a demon now he shore;
With his mighty knee upon her,
And his grip upon her jaw.
As he picked her up and dumped her,
Down the whipping side he tore,
She dare not kick or wriggle,
She had seen him shear before.
He was holding Jack the Ringer,
He was leading Mick the Brute
As he called tor tar and dumped her.
Like a hogget down the chute.
As he reached to pull the Lister,
Now excited, out of gear.
The electric light was shining
And all was bright and clear.
He gazed now out the window,
Half awakened from his sleep,
And out there on the footpath
Lay the missus in a heap.
Gawd blimey! I’ve had nightmares,
After boozing up a treat.
And walked without no trousers
To the pub across the street,
But this one here takes llckin’
And It’s one I’ll have to keep.
I dare not tell the cobbers
I shore the missus In my sleep.