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Out on the board the old shearer stands,
grasping his shears in his thin bony hand,
Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied yeo,
Glory if he gets her won’t he make the ringer go.
Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick.
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied yeo.
In the middle of the floor in his cane-bottomed chair,
Sits the boss of the board with his eyes everywhere;
Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen,
Paying strict attention that its taken off clean.
Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick.
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied yeo.
The tar-boy is there and awaiting in demand,
With his blackened tar-pot in his tarry hand;
Sees one old sheep with a cut upon its back;
Here is what he’s waiting for – it’s “Tar here Jack!”
Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick.
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied yeo.
The Colonial Experience man, he is there of course,
With his shiny leggings on, just off his horse.
He gazes all around like a real connoisseur,
Scented soap and brilliantine, smelling most particular.
Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick.
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied yeo.
Shearing is all over and we’ve all got our cheques,
Roll up your swags, boys, we’re off on the tracks,
The first pub we come to it’s there we’ll have a spree,
And everyone that comes along, it’s “Come and drink with me!”
Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick.
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied yeo.
Down by the bar the old shearer stands,
Grasping his glass in his thin bony hand,
Fixed is his gaze on a green painted keg,
Glory he’ll get down on it before he stirs a leg.
Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick.
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied yeo.
There we leave him standing, shouting for all hands,
While all around him every shouter stands.
His eyes are on the keg, which now is lowering fast;
He works hard, he drinks hard, and goes to hell at last.
Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick.
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied yeo.
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