They're building a memorial to the man who wrote the words of Waltzing Matilda - the tune is an old celtic folk song - though the words most of us know are by Marie Cowan. For all who feel like singing out (go on, you know you want to):
Waltzing Matilda
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a Coolibah tree
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
And he sang as he watched and waited til his billy boiled
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tuckerbag
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
And he sang as he watched and waited til his billy boiled
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
Up rode the squatter mounted on his thoroughbred
Down came troopers one two three
Whose that jumbuck you've got in the tuckerbag?
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
And he sang as he watched and waited til his billy boiled
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong
You'll never catch me alive said he
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Same difference as Land of Hope and Glory and God Save the Queen or
Va, pensiero sull'ali dorate and Ialia, Italia, really.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
9 comments:
Or more recently (well, 2006), the Lord Levy remix
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Once a lordly bagman sat by his tennis court
Under the shade of the patronage tree
And he sang as he watched and waited for the nouveaux riches
“Who’ll buy a peerage? Apply now to me!
Chorus
Who’ll buy a peerage? Who’ll buy a peerage?
Who’ll buy a peerage? Apply now to me!”
And he sang as he watched and waited for the nouveaux riches
“Who’ll buy a peerage? Apply now to me!”
Down came a punter to buy himself a baronet
Up jumped the bagman and fleeced him with glee
And he sang as he shoved the moolah in his money-bag
“Tennis with Tony, and lunch with Cherie!”
Chorus Tennis with Tony! etc
Up rode Inspector Yates mounted on his motorbike
Down came the coppers one, two, three
“What’s all that dosh you’ve been shoving in your money-bag?
You’re coming down to the station with me!”
Chorus Down to the station! etc
Up jumped the bagman and made a call to Number 10
“If I go down, I will take you with me!”
And his boast may be heard as you pass by that tennis court
“Who’ll buy a peerage? Apply now to me!”
Chorus Who’ll buy a peerage? etc
Sometimes I wonder what it must be like to have the inside of your head, ND, bursting into instant spoof-in-verse. Chomsky needs to reconsider his deep structures for more than just a grammar.
Humming Waltzing - both versions - I'm looking interestedly at the installation of colonial governance across the United Kingdom. Truly the peoples of the Empire have come to the Mother Country bringing with them their legal systems; and the district commissioners will ride again from banyan tree to banyan tree to reconcile the culturally diverse jurisdictions and issue the edicts of the Executive.
the inside of my head, er yes, well, a very ... untidy place
Isn't what you call untidiness called fuzzy nowadays? And regarded as the dernier cri?
le mot juste: my luck - if you wait long enough everything comes back into fashion
left brain and right brain collapsing into one another
actually things seem fuzzier and fuzzier as the days go by, I doubt that losing it completely is ever in fashion
(tho Jenny Joseph is giving it a go)
I like this one, too:
http://folkstream.com/064.html
...and the dog is celebrated in sculpture, too:
http://www.poetsrecall.com.au/images/large/dogontuckerbox.html_PHOTO1.jpg
Why do I fear that 'Nine Miles from Gundagai' might have other, not ND, words?
Maybe this explains ND's state of mind. Trust the Aussies to come up with the explanation. There is also a different version of this which rhymes a certtain prime minister's ..er.. [what's the word I'm looking for? predilections?] with beer, but I won't go into that.
All together now to the tune of Beautiful Dreamer:
It's lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the camp fire at night where the wild dingoes call,
But there's nothing so lonesome so morbid or drear
Than to stand in a bar of a pub [with no beer]. {with a q...r}
Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come
There's a far away look on the face of the bum
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer.
Then the stock-man rides up with his dry dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat,
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer,
When the bar man said sadly the pub's got no beer.
There's a dog on the v'randa-h for his master he waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and cringes in fear
It's no place for a dog round a pub with no beer.
Old Billy the blacksmith first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife,
He walks in the kitchen, she says you're early me dear,
But he breaks down and tells her the pub's got no beer
Post a Comment