I'm but a simple cockie's man -- a common sort o' bloke;
But I'm 'uman an' 'ave feelin's, just the same as other folk.
I'm bloomin' well disgusted with the present state o' things;
The country's fairly busted, so this is wot I sings:-

         Gawd 'elp the cockie's man --
            Graftin' all the day;
         Send 'im better tucker an'
            Send 'im better pay.
         'Elp 'im on a little bit
            In 'is worldly fight,
         Then, if I should think of it,
            I'll say a prayer at night.

A bloke 'as got to keep 'imself on fifteen bob a week.
It don't cost much to feed 'im, cos e's 'umble an' e's meek.
'E wants a decent livin', an' that's wot 'e don't get --
The drought it stops the bloomin' crops an' leaves 'im in the wet.

A man can't 'ave a decent drunk, not three times in a year;
The money goes in tucker, an' there's nothin' lef' fur beer.
I ain't no guzzlin' glutton, but I like me glass of ale,
With me damper an' me mutton -- 'spech'ly when the latter's stale.
I'm sick o' drivin' 'arrers, an' I'm sick o' chuckin' 'ay;
I'm sick o' doin' anythink -- fur 'arf-a-crown a day.
I wisht I was an angel -- an' I 'ope I will be soon;
I'd play upon me golden 'arp, an' this'd be me toon --

         Gawd 'elp the cockie's man,
            Sweatin' in the sun.
         Wot's 'e gittin' punished for?
            Wot's 'e bin an' done?
         Make 'is life a little bright,
            'Elp 'im awn a bit,
         Then e'll say a prayer at night --
            If 'e don't forgit.

"E.J.D" [sic]
The Critic, 19 February 1898, p5