Banjo Paterson

(17 February 1864 – 5 February 1941 / New South Wales)

Banjo Paterson Poems

281. Waltzing Matilda 1/1/2004
282. "Ave Ceasar" 1/1/2004
283. The Man From Snowy River 1/1/2004
284. A Change Of Menu 1/1/2004

Comments about Banjo Paterson

  • skadaddle skadoodle (3/26/2018 8:58:00 PM)

    ummmmmmmmmmmmm no im not saying it but i will skadaddle skadoodle your d

    4 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • dickbutt (3/26/2018 8:58:00 PM)

    skadaddle skadoodle your is now a noodle

  • that one kid (3/26/2018 8:53:00 PM)

    its cool i guess lol idk

  • diddly dank memes (3/26/2018 8:52:00 PM)

    i was looking for something to do and somehow ended up here

  • hella gay (3/26/2018 8:50:00 PM)

    youre mum gay lolololololololololololololol

  • Squidward (3/13/2018 5:30:00 AM)

    Im only here because of school and i have no opion on this

  • poop a lot (12/3/2017 6:00:00 PM)

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  • Panmelys Panmelys Panmelys Panmelys (2/10/2015 2:27:00 AM)

    Amazing discovery I've always wondered who Waltzing Mathilda, I like his work and will read more when time permits. Panmelys 205

  • Chuck Norris (10/9/2014 8:00:00 PM)

    This Guy is a sick lad bruh.

  • Mark Paterson (7/5/2010 2:24:00 PM)

    How right he was. Too late now. No heed was taken.

Best Poem of Banjo Paterson

A Change Of Menu

Now the new chum loaded his three-nought-three,
It's a small-bore gun, but his hopes were big.
"I am fed to the teeth with old ewe," said he,
"And I might be able to shoot a pig."
And he trusted more to his nose than ear
To give him warning when pigs were near.

Out of his lair in the lignum dark.
Where the wild duck nests and the bilbie digs,
With a whoof and a snort and a kind of bark
There rose the father of all the pigs:
And a tiger would have walked wide of him
As he stropped his tusks on a leaning limb.

Then the new chum's ...

Read the full of A Change Of Menu

Fed Up

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.

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