The Shearer's Cook

Now, shearers' cooks, as shearers know, Are very seldom wont to blow; But when I took to dabbing tar And "picking-up" on Blaringar, The cook, when "barbers" came at morn To get a snack, would say, with scorn: "Tea on the left, Coffee on the right, Brownie on the bunk, and blast yez!" The "bunk" or slab was in the hut, And on it "brownie" ready cut; Two buckets o'er the fire would be - One filled with coffee, one with tea; And when the chaps came filing in The cook would say, with mirthless grin: "Tea on the left, Coffee on the right, Brownie on the bunk, and blast yez!" Peculiar man, this shearers' cook, And had a very ugly look. To me - a new-chum rouseabout, Said he, one day when all were out: "There's nothing in this world, my lad, That's worth your worry, good or bad; Grief on the left, Sorrow on the right, Trouble on the bunk, but blast it!"