I'm lyin'on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought,And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out;I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin'brow --I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now.
Oh it's trampin',trampin',tra-a-mpin',in flies an'dust an'heat,Or it's trampin'trampin'tra-a-a-mpin'through mud and slush 'n sleet;
It's tramp an'tramp for tucker --one everlastin'strife,An'wearin'out yer boots an'heart in the wastin'of yer life.
They whine o'lost an'wasted lives in idleness and crime --I've wasted mine for twenty years,and grafted all the time And never drunk the stuff I earned,nor gambled when I shore --But somehow when yer on the track yer life seems wasted more.
A long dry stretch of thirty miles I've tramped this broilin'day,All for the off-chance of a job a hundred miles away;There's twenty hungry beggars wild for any job this year,An'fifty might be at the shed while I am lyin'here.
The sinews in my legs seem drawn,red-hot --'n that's the truth;I seem to weigh a ton,and ache like one tremendous tooth;I'm stung between my shoulder-blades --my blessed back seems broke;I'm too knocked out to eat a bite --I'm too knocked up to smoke.
The blessed rain is comin'too --there's oceans in the sky,An'I suppose I must get up and rig the blessed fly;The heat is bad,the water's bad,the flies a crimson curse,The grub is bad,mosquitoes damned --but rheumatism's worse.
I wonder why poor blokes like me will stick so fast ter breath,Though Shakespeare says it is the fear of somethin'after death;But though Eternity be cursed with God's almighty curse --What ever that same somethin'is I swear it can't be worse.
For it's trampin',trampin',tra-a-mpin'thro'hell across the plain,And it's trampin'trampin'tra-a-mpin'thro'slush 'n mud 'n rain --A livin'worse than any dog --without a home 'n wife,A-wearin'out yer heart 'n soul in the wastin'of yer life.
