
Date of issue: 31.12.1995
Record label: EMI Recorded Music Australia
Song language: English
Sweeney |
It was somewhere in September and the sun was goin' down |
When I came in search of copy, to a Darling River town |
Come-And-Have-A-Drink we’ll call it, 'tis a fitting name I think |
And 'twas raining, for a wonder, up at Come-And-Have-A-Drink |
Underneath the pub verandah I was resting on a bunk |
When a stranger rose before me, and he said that he was drunk |
He apologised for speaking, there was no offence he swore |
But he somehow seemed to fancy that he’d seen my face before |
He agreed you can’t remember all the chaps you chance to meet |
And he said his name was Sweeney, people lived in Sussex Street |
He was camping in a stable, that he swore that he was right |
Only for the blanky horses walkin' over him all night |
He’d apparently been fighting, for his face was black and blue |
And it looked as though the horses had been treading on him too |
But an honest genial twinkle in the eye that wasn’t hurt |
Seemed to hint of something better, spite of drink and rags and dirt |
He was born in Parramatta and he said with humour grim |
That he’d like to see the city, 'ere the liquor finished him |
But he couldn’t raise the money, he was damned if he could think |
What the Government was doing here, he offered me a drink |
I declined, 'twas self-denial and I lectured him on booze |
Using all the hackneyed arguments that preachers mostly use |
Things I’d heard in temperance lectures, I was young and rather green |
And I ended by referring to the man he might have been |
But he couldn’t stay to argue, for his beer was nearly gone |
He was glad, he said, to meet me, and he’d see me later on |
But he guessed he’d have to go and get his bottle filled again |
And he gave a lurch and vanished in the darkness and the rain |
Now of afternoons in cities, when the rain is on the land |
Visions come to me of Sweeney, with his bottle in his hand |
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