. . . . .
'Twas Stingy Smith on his stockyard sat, and prayed for an early Spring,
When he stared at sight of a clean-shaved tramp, who walked with jaunty swing;
For a clean-shaved tramp with a jaunty walk a-swinging along the track
Is as rare a thing as a feathered frog on the desolate roads out back.
So the tramp he made for the travellers' hut,
and asked could he camp the night;
But Stingy Smith had a bright idea, and he said to him, `Can you fight?'
`Why, what's the game?' said the clean-shaved tramp,
as he looked at him up and down --
`If you want a battle, get off that fence, and I'll kill you for half-a-crown!
But, Boss, you'd better not fight with me, it wouldn't be fair nor right;
I'm Stiffener Joe, from the Rocks Brigade, and I killed a man in a fight:
I served two years for it, fair and square, and now I'm a trampin' back,
To look for a peaceful quiet life away on the outside track ----'
`Oh, it's not myself, but a drover chap,' said Stingy Smith with glee;
`A bullying fellow, called Saltbush Bill -- and you are the man for me.
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