Andrew Barton Paterson [Banjo] (17 February 1864 – 5 February 1941 / New South Wales)
Poems of Andrew Barton Paterson
|281.||Who is Kator Anyhow?||1/1/2004|
|282.||Why the Jackass Laughs||1/1/2004|
|283.||Wisdom of Hafiz: the Philosopher Takes to Racing||1/1/2004|
|284.||With French to Kimberley||1/1/2004|
|285.||With French to Kimberley||9/11/2012|
|286.||With the Cattle||1/1/2004|
I ain't a timid man at all, I'm just as brave as most,
I'll take my chance in open fight and die beside my post;
But riding round the 'ole day long as target for a Krupp,
A-drawing fire from Koppies -- well, I'm fair fed up.
It's wonderful how few get hit, it's luck that pulls us through;
Their rifle fire's no class at all, it misses me and you;
But when they sprinkle shells around like water from a cup
From that there blooming pom-pom gun -- well, I'm fed up.