| Oh I’m on my way down to the quay
|
| Where a big ship now does lie
|
| For to take a gang of navvies
|
| I was told to engage
|
| But I thought I would call in for a while
|
| Before I went away
|
| For to take a trip in an emigrant ship
|
| To the shores of Botany Bay
|
| Chorus:
|
| Farewell to your bricks and mortar
|
| Farewell to your dirty lime
|
| Farewell to your gangway and gang planks
|
| And to hell with your overtime
|
| For the good ship Ragamuffin
|
| She is lying at the quay
|
| For to take old Pat with a shovel on his back
|
| To the shores of Botany Bay
|
| The best years of our life we spend
|
| At working on the docks
|
| Building mighty wharves and quays
|
| Of earth and ballast rocks
|
| Our pensions keep our lives secure
|
| But I’ll not rue the day
|
| When I take a trip on an emigrant ship
|
| To the shores of Botany Bay
|
| For the boss came up this morning
|
| And he said «Well Pat hello
|
| If you do not mix that mortar fast
|
| Be sure you’ll have to go»
|
| Of course he did insult me
|
| I demanded of my pay
|
| And I told him straight I was going to emigrate
|
| To the shores of Botany Bay |
| And when I reach Australia
|
| I’ll go and look for gold
|
| Sure there’s plenty there for the digging
|
| Or so I have been told
|
| Or I might go back into my trade
|
| Eight hundred bricks I’ll lay
|
| In an eight hour day for eight bob pay
|
| On the shores of Botany Bay |