Lyrics

Hark, hark, the dogs are barking, I can no longer stay The boys have all gone shearing, I heard the publican say And I must be off in the morning, love, before the sun do shine To meet the Roma shearers on the banks of the Condamine Oh Willie, dearest Willie, don't leave me here to mourn Don't make me curse and rue the day that ever I was born For parting with you, Willie, is like parting with my life So stay and be a selector, love and I will be your wife Oh Nancy, dearest Nancy, you know that I must go The squatters are expecting me their shearing for to do And when I'm on the board, my love, I'll think of you with pride And my shears they will go freely when I'm on the whipping side Oh I'll cut off my yellow hair and go along with you I'll dress myself in men's attire and be a shearer too I'll cook and count your tally, love, whilst ringer-o you shine And I'll wash your greasy moleskins on the banks of the Condamine Oh Nancy, dearest Nancy, you know you cannot go The boss has given his orders no woman may do so And your delicate constitution isn't equal unto mine To eat that ram-stag mutton on the banks of the Condamine But when the shearing's over I'll make of you my wife I'll get a boundary riding job and settle down for life And when the days' work's done, my love, and the evening it is fine I'll tell of them sandy cobblers on the banks of the Condamine