Banks of the Condamine

Hark, hark, the dogs are barking, I can no longer stay
The boys have all gone shearing, I heard the publican say
And I must be off in the morning, love, before the sun do shine
To meet the Roma shearers on the banks of the Condamine
Oh Willie, dearest Willie, don’t leave me here to mourn
Don’t make me curse and rue the day that ever I was born
For parting with you, Willie, is like parting with my life
So stay and be a selector, love and I will be your wife
Oh Nancy, dearest Nancy, you know that I must go
The squatters are expecting me their shearing for to do
And when I’m on the board, my love, I’ll think of you with pride
And my shears they will go freely when I’m on the whipping side
Oh I’ll cut off my yellow hair and go along with you
I’ll dress myself in men’s attire and be a shearer too
I’ll cook and count your tally, love, whilst ringer-o you shine
And I’ll wash your greasy moleskins on the banks of the Condamine
Oh Nancy, dearest Nancy, you know you cannot go
The boss has given his orders no woman may do so
And your delicate constitution isn’t equal unto mine
To eat that ram-stag mutton on the banks of the Condamine
But when the shearing’s over I’ll make of you my wife
I’ll get a boundary riding job and settle down for life
And when the days' work’s done, my love, and the evening it is fine
I’ll tell of them sandy cobblers on the banks of the Condamine