Devine came back the other day.
We'd planned a great home-comin'.
No long trombone we had to play,
No fine, heroic drummin'.
With two sticks and a milk-can Borne
Put up a martial clatter,
While Carter blew a bullock-horn
Says Tom Devine, with healthy scorn;
-Gorstruth! what is the matter?�

We set three colored petticoats
From Baker's chimneys blowin'
('Tis not the bravest flag that floats,
Yet 'twas the finest goin');
We cheered our hero all we knew,
No song of praise neglectin',
To show our pride as he limped through
He merely spat and snorted, -Who
-The deuce are yous expectin'?�

They lured him to my shop somehow,
And sued for news of battle.
Says Tom: -Who rides the mail track now?
Who herdin' Stringer's cattle?�
A dint the Turk put in his head.
He covers with a ringlet.
He'd won a medal, so we read.
-I might 'ave 'ad it pinched,� he said-
-I've sewn it in my singlet!�

Says Cole -But, 'struth, you must 'ave seen
A fearful swag of scrappin'.�
And Tom agrees -Where men are keen
That's pretty sure to 'appen.
One night a little bloke from Hay
Who plugged a Pentridge warder
Got such a doin' that at day,
Amazed, they ticked him for a stray
Distinguished Service Order.

-Then Sydney Bob was rather vexed
With Green-who'd pinched his braces,
That was 'continued in our next'
In half a score of places.
McCubbin threw his grub at Lea
(You know how sticky stew is);
They fought till neither man could see.
You talk of fight-Gorstrike me, we
Saw stacks of it at Suez!�