| Now the weary week has ended, it’s pay day on the job
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| Let’s go down to the local and mingle with the mob
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| You’ll meet the dinkum Aussies, rough and ready as they are
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| With hard faces brown as leather, lined up around the bar
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| Someone is sure to greet you, you chaps I’m glad to see
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| Come on you pair of somethings, and have a drink with me
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| While the barmaid juggles glasses and the boss works with a will
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| For he loves to hear the rattle of the silver in the till
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| Now the rousabout is busy, he hasn’t time to think
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| And I’m sure he’d never hear you if you ask him for a drink
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| Oh the barrels that are heavy will be light ones very soon
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| When the brumbies come to water on a pay day afternoon
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| Now the world is such a great place, everyone is doing well
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| And strange it is to listen to the stories that they tell
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| Some are ridin' buckin' brumbies, some are up north in the cane
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| Some are growling at the weather and are wishing it would rain
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| And there’s old Jimmy Wooter in the corner by himself
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| Telling stories to the bottles that are standing on the shelf
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| Oh he once was high and mighty though forlorn he’s looking now
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| In a hat that came from nowhere and a torn old Jackie Howe
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| Now the clock is moving onwards, the lightweights have their fill
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| But those with more horse power are staying with it still
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| Some have already had it and are layed out in a swoon
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| They’ll be grumpy when they wake up on a pay day afternoon
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| Hear the hen-pecked hubbies saying what will become of me
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| For I told my little woman that I’d hurry home to tea
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| She’s going to play old Harry and whale like one bereft
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| When she digs into my pockets and she finds there’s little left
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| But if he uses a bit of blarney she’ll forgive |