WHEN first I came to Sydney Cove
And up and down the streets did rove,
I thought such sights I ne’er did see
Since first I learnt my A, B, C.
CHORUS
Oh! it’s broiling in the morning,
It’s toiling in the morning,
It’s broiling in the morning,
It’s toiling all day long.
Into the park I took a stroll—
I felt just like a buttered roll.
A pretty name “The Sunny South!”
A better one “The Land of Drouth!”
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
Next day into the bush I went,
On wild adventure I was bent,
Dame Nature’s wonders I’d explore,
All thought of danger would ignore.
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
The mosquitoes and bull-dog ants
Assailed me even through my pants.
It nearly took my breath away
To hear the jackass laugh so gay!
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
This lovely country, I’ve been told,
Abounds in silver and in gold.
You may pick it up all day,
Just as leaves in autumn lay!
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
Marines will chance this yarn believe,
But bluejackets you can’t deceive.
Such pretty stories will not fit,
Nor can I their truth admit.
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
Some say there’s lots of work to do.
Well, yes, but then, ’twixt me and you,
A man may toil and broil all day—
The big, fat man gets all the pay,
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
Mayhap such good things there may be,
But you may have them all, for me,
Instead of roaming foreign parts
I wish I’d studied the Fine Arts!
Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.
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