I never rightly knew his name --
We always call him "Gundagai"!'
Our flashest shearer then had gone
To train a racehorse for a race,
And while his sporting fit was on
He couldn't be relied upon,
So `Gundagai' shore in his place.
Alas for man's veracity!
For reputations false and true!
This `Gundagai' turned out to be,
For strife and all-round villainy,
The very worst I ever knew!
He started racing Jack Devine,
And grumbled when I made him stop.
The pace he showed was extra fine,
But all those pure-bred ewes of mine
Were bleeding like a butcher's shop.
He cursed the sheep, he cursed the shed,
From roof to rafter, floor to shelf;
As for my mongrel ewes, he said,
I ought to get a razor blade
And shave the blooming things myself.
On Sundays he controlled a `school',
And played `two-up' the livelong day;
And many a young confiding fool
He shore of his financial wool;
And when he lost he would not pay.
He organised a shearers' race,
And `touched' me to provide the prize.
His packhorse showed surprising pace
And won hands down -- he was The Ace,
A well-known racehorse in disguise.
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