Banjo Paterson

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

Banjo Paterson Poems

281. By The Grey Gulf-Water 1/1/2004
282. Old Schooldays 1/1/2004
283. The Man From Snowy River 1/1/2004
284. A Dog's Mistake 1/1/2004

Comments about Banjo Paterson

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

    its cool i guess lol idk

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

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

    5 person liked.
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  • hella gay (3/26/2018 8:50:00 PM)

    youre mum gay lolololololololololololololol

    6 person liked.
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  • Squidward (3/13/2018 5:30:00 AM)

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

    8 person liked.
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  • poop a lot (12/3/2017 6:00:00 PM)

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    6 person liked.
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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

    14 person liked.
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  • Chuck Norris (10/9/2014 8:00:00 PM)

    This Guy is a sick lad bruh.

    31 person liked.
    12 person did not like.
  • Mark Paterson (7/5/2010 2:24:00 PM)

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

    40 person liked.
    24 person did not like.
Best Poem of Banjo Paterson

A Dog's Mistake

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear.
He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.

Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of ...

Read the full of A Dog's Mistake

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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