Australian
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When I was lying in my bunk, in my humble six-by-eight,
I dreamt I saw Sam Griffiths with a darkie for a mate.
I thought I met them travelling on a dreary Queensland track,
And Sam was decorated with a collar fashioned pack.

I thought that it was summertime, Sam had o’er his eyes,
A little piece of muslin to protect him from the flies.
Through his boots his toes were shining and his feet looked very sore,
I knew his heels were blistered from the Alberts that he wore.

When Sam saw me coming towards them, he sat down upon his swag,
Said he ‘Look here stranger you’ve got much water in your bag.
We’re victimised by squatters for we are two union men’,
And Sam had on as usual his same old polished grin.

Said I, ‘Look here Sammy Griffiths, if you have a flaming cheek,
If you want a drink of water you can get it from the creek.
As for the South Sea Islander, I do not wish him ill,
For well I know poor devil, he’s here against his will.’

‘You said with wife and family, one time you’d emigrate,
If they did not stop Kanakas, that was in ’88.
You spoke against black labour then and talked of workers’ rights,
You spoke from lips but not from heart “Australia for the whites”.’

‘You should lope to those you’ve crawled to, the sugar growing push,
For you’re hated and detested, by the workers in the bush.
They might give you some easy billets, such as boots and shoes to clean,
Or drive the Kanakas as they work amongst the cane.’

I thought Sam jumped up, froth around his mouth like spray,
Said he ‘My agitator, just let me have a say.
I remember you at Longreach, how you did hoot and groan,
I believe you would have mobbed me but for Constable Malone.’

I thought Sam tried to rush me and shake before my face,
But I got on the (unknown) swing and gave him coup de grace.
The darkie raised his tomahawk, and gave a savage scream,
And all at once I wokened up and found it all a dream.