Bark 'ut.
Posted: Sun Apr 01, 2012 1:32 pm
Topical Rhymes for Aussie Times.
ol' bark ‘ut.
A bit out West of Sydney Town near the slope of Prospect Hill
where soil is good for growin’ things in a grassy tree clad rill,
there on the banks of Prospect Creek standing bare and stark,
with wooden posts for uprights there’s an old ‘ut clad in bark.
At the one side there’s a chimney made from bricks ‘n stones ‘n tin.
In the front wall there’s a door ‘ole, but no front door to get in.
Three windows with no curtains only bent nails with some rope.
A cracked mirror on the back door is the only sign of hope.
The ol’ dray out in the paddick is busted, bent and torn.
The part that usta be the tray is up and went and gorn.
One wheel, no shafts, no seatin’ - just maybe for a lark
someone pinched the gaslights so it wont go in the dark.
The railway ‘ad come to Fairfield ‘round eighteen fifty six
so the cart’s no longer needed but because of politics,
the folks from Smithfield Markets have to send their produce down
to our bloomin’ little Fairfield and pay the ‘alf a crown.
(c). Rimeriter.
1/11/00.
revised 16/10/06.
ol' bark ‘ut.
A bit out West of Sydney Town near the slope of Prospect Hill
where soil is good for growin’ things in a grassy tree clad rill,
there on the banks of Prospect Creek standing bare and stark,
with wooden posts for uprights there’s an old ‘ut clad in bark.
At the one side there’s a chimney made from bricks ‘n stones ‘n tin.
In the front wall there’s a door ‘ole, but no front door to get in.
Three windows with no curtains only bent nails with some rope.
A cracked mirror on the back door is the only sign of hope.
The ol’ dray out in the paddick is busted, bent and torn.
The part that usta be the tray is up and went and gorn.
One wheel, no shafts, no seatin’ - just maybe for a lark
someone pinched the gaslights so it wont go in the dark.
The railway ‘ad come to Fairfield ‘round eighteen fifty six
so the cart’s no longer needed but because of politics,
the folks from Smithfield Markets have to send their produce down
to our bloomin’ little Fairfield and pay the ‘alf a crown.
(c). Rimeriter.
1/11/00.
revised 16/10/06.