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The Old Bush Pub
The old bush pub has seen some times
I'll wager things were good
When all it was, was sheets of tin
and rough cut planks of wood
When cattlemen tied up their steeds
to posts along the street
and spurs adorned the leather boots
upon the drinkers feet
When miners trod the dusty trails
in search of fields of gold
and swaggies thirsts were gladly quenched
with beer the bush pub sold
When drovers trails all ended here
beneath the old tin roof
and cockys came from miles around
to drink the eighty proof
Where granddad, Bob and Salty Bill
all came to yarn and drink
and yellow dogs from local farms
beneath the pub would slink
Where dad would stay past closing time
still drinking with his mates
and mum would soon come storming in
'Cos dad was always late
Two generations lost to war
once breasted at the bar
and photographs around the walls
remind us who they are
What stories these old walls could tell
if they could only speak
But tales stay locked up safe inside
the tin and polished teak
Though things have come, and things have gone
and much has changed about
here, mates still get their wallets out
when it's their turn to shout
Through drought and flood and fire and rain
the old pub stood the test
and when it all is said and done
the old bush pubs are best
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
Copyright ©
Marc Glasby
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