It's empty now, but years ago
   It used to be a pub;
'Twas built by Hicks in '76,
   On the edge of Wild Dog Scrub.   

Built of slab, an' ir'n an' dab --
   It's done it's bit o' trade,
An' many a bloke it's rooned an' broke,
   An' one or two it's made.

Hicks sold out to Tate, fur 'bout
   A thousan', so they say;
But 'Arry Tate was far too straight
   To make the shanty pay.

Refused ye drink if 'e should think
   Ye'd 'ad enough already;
Tried to arrange a sort o' change,
   An' keep the fellers steady.

An' as I say, it didn't pay,
   'Arry 'ad to hook it;
'Ad to go in a year or so,
   Then Paddy Casey took it.

Strike me dumb!  'E made things 'um --
   Casey was a daisy!
Tanglefoot an' doctored rum
   Drove the fellers crazy.

Casey 'd snap our 'ard-earned cheques,
   Pour the liquor down us;
Make us broken, tremblin' wrecks,
   Then 'e wouldn't own us.

Made 'is pile?  Well I should smile!
   Livin' down below;
Does the grand with four in 'and --
   Quite a toff you know.

Well, when Casey left the place
   Things wus gettin' slack;
Teams wus gittin' rather scarce
   Comin' down the track.

Times, you see, thet used to be
   Wus gawn, an' biz was slow;
So the bloke thet took it broke --
   Smashed, an' 'ad to go.

Now it's empty, an' its days is
   Over - never fear;
Many men it's sent to blazis
   In it's short career.

"C.J.D."
Critic, 19 March 1898, p5