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One day in early summer Murphy the Irishman came to town, He rode upon a matted mule , his face was burnt and brown, The corks that hung from his bushman's hat persuaded flies to keep away, But his matted mule and his faithful dog were exposed to the flying fray. Murphy'd been prospecting for six long months out near Badger's Creek, He wanted bath, a soft bed to sleep, some comfort for a week, A cold beer will do me first he thought as he hitched his mule to the rail, "Watch me things Nipper,"he said to his dog, as he brushed off dirt from the trail. Well Nipper was of doubtful parentage, although more fox-terrier than not, But once Murphy gave him orders he followed them to the spot, As Murphy downed his first cold beer in the Harkness Royal Oak, Nipper's hair stood right on end, he'd spotted a doubtful bloke. Petty thief Harry McGee had observed Murphy's arrival in town, He'd seen him alight, then go inside to toss a few cool ones down, A chance he thought to check the saddle-bags to see what was within, However Nipper's thoughts were different, his mouth exposed a fearsome grin. Now this sleepy town of Harkness wasn't ready for what was about to explode, As McGee sauntered up to the mule Nipper's teeth were now fully exposed, McGee touched a lash on the saddle-bag, Nipper's signal to go right in, He dove at McGee with an open mouth but instead got the mule on the shin. The mule reared up in enormous pain, pulling his tethered reins quite free, They lassoed one of McGee's arms as he turned to sprint so daringly, The mule and McGee were now firmly attached, with the mule bolting from the dog, Nipper was bent on having thief for dinner, McGee on avoiding a mob. Harry was now concerned for his safety, he couldn't distance his foe, As they charged through Lon-Chee's Laundry the noise was beginning to grow, An angry Chinaman now joined the chase with a hatchet by his side, Intent on slicing up mule and dog and a piece of Harry's hide. Old Pop Alcorn was asleep on the verandah of Harkness General Store, But as Harry and his foe mounted the verandah a gasp replaced his snore, Pots and pans flew in all directions, barrels turned upside down, The manager of the store now enraged joined the chase with a frightful frown. Harry now headed towards the doors of the Harkness Royal Oak, Unless he got rid of the mule and the dog he was sure he was going to croak, As a desperate measure, perhaps a last chance, he turned to the place he knew so well, The barman was pouring Murphy a beer as the patronage suddenly swelled. The din that erupted as tables crashed was fit for no woman to hear, The ensuing fights, the cussing words, grown men crying in their beer, McGee finally pulled free of the matted mule as he tore out the pub back door, He hurdled a fence, safe at last, the salivating dog had not settled the score. The mule also went out the back door, he took half the wall as well, He was followed by the fox-terrier dog escaping the pub clientele, With no one to follow the mule and the dog returned to their original site, They puffed and panted as their bodies heaved and the day turned into night. It was near on an hour before Murphy returned, a large swelling on his head, As he mounted his mule he muttered something about lucky he wasn't dead, You see he never saw his mule and his dog as they entered the pub abode, Or the flying table that knocked him out as the blood in the bar-room flowed. "I f that's town life you can keep it," Murphy said as he rode away, "Give the hills, the peace and quiet, not a bloody crude town foray," But the citizens of Harkness will remember well the day Murphy came to town, Twas the day the matted mule and the dog tore half of Harkness down.

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The Day Murphy Came To Town

One day in early summer Murphy the Irishman came to town, He rode upon a matted mule , his face was burnt and brown, The corks that hung from his bushman's hat persuaded flies to keep away, But his matted mule and his faithful dog were exposed to the flying fray. Murphy'd been prospecting for six long months out near Badger's Creek, He wanted bath, a soft bed to sleep, some comfort for a week, A cold beer will do me first he thought as he hitched his mule to the rail, "Watch me things Nipper,"he said to his dog, as he brushed off dirt from the trail. Well Nipper was of doubtful parentage, although more fox-terrier than not, But once Murphy gave him orders he followed them to the spot, As Murphy downed his first cold beer in the Harkness Royal Oak, Nipper's hair stood right on end, he'd spotted a doubtful bloke. Petty thief Harry McGee had observed Murphy's arrival in town, He'd seen him alight, then go inside to toss a few cool ones down, A chance he thought to check the saddle-bags to see what was within, However Nipper's thoughts were different, his mouth exposed a fearsome grin. Now this sleepy town of Harkness wasn't ready for what was about to explode, As McGee sauntered up to the mule Nipper's teeth were now fully exposed, McGee touched a lash on the saddle-bag, Nipper's signal to go right in, He dove at McGee with an open mouth but instead got the mule on the shin. The mule reared up in enormous pain, pulling his tethered reins quite free, They lassoed one of McGee's arms as he turned to sprint so daringly, The mule and McGee were now firmly attached, with the mule bolting from the dog, Nipper was bent on having thief for dinner, McGee on avoiding a mob. Harry was now concerned for his safety, he couldn't distance his foe, As they charged through Lon-Chee's Laundry the noise was beginning to grow, An angry Chinaman now joined the chase with a hatchet by his side, Intent on slicing up mule and dog and a piece of Harry's hide. Old Pop Alcorn was asleep on the verandah of Harkness General Store, But as Harry and his foe mounted the verandah a gasp replaced his snore, Pots and pans flew in all directions, barrels turned upside down, The manager of the store now enraged joined the chase with a frightful frown. Harry now headed towards the doors of the Harkness Royal Oak, Unless he got rid of the mule and the dog he was sure he was going to croak, As a desperate measure, perhaps a last chance, he turned to the place he knew so well, The barman was pouring Murphy a beer as the patronage suddenly swelled. The din that erupted as tables crashed was fit for no woman to hear, The ensuing fights, the cussing words, grown men crying in their beer, McGee finally pulled free of the matted mule as he tore out the pub back door, He hurdled a fence, safe at last, the salivating dog had not settled the score. The mule also went out the back door, he took half the wall as well, He was followed by the fox-terrier dog escaping the pub clientele, With no one to follow the mule and the dog returned to their original site, They puffed and panted as their bodies heaved and the day turned into night. It was near on an hour before Murphy returned, a large swelling on his head, As he mounted his mule he muttered something about lucky he wasn't dead, You see he never saw his mule and his dog as they entered the pub abode, Or the flying table that knocked him out as the blood in the bar-room flowed. "I f that's town life you can keep it," Murphy said as he rode away, "Give the hills, the peace and quiet, not a bloody crude town foray," But the citizens of Harkness will remember well the day Murphy came to town, Twas the day the matted mule and the dog tore half of Harkness down.