A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
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BOTANY BAY
Farewell to your bricks and mortar,
Farewell to your dirty lies,
Farewell to your gangers and gangplanks,
To hell with your overtime,
For the good ship Ragamuffin,
She’s lying at the Quay,
To take old Pat with a shovel on his back
To the shores of Botany Bay.
I’m on my way down to the Quay
Where the ship at anchor lays,
To command a gang of navvies
That they told me to engage.
I thought I’d drop in for a drink
Before I went away
For to take a trip on an emigrant ship
To the shores of Botany Bay.
The boss came up this morning,
And he says, well, Pat, you know,
If you don’t get your navvies out
I’m afraid you’ll have to go.
So I asked him for my wages
And demanded all my pay,
For I told him straight that I’m going to emigrate
To the shores of Botany Bay.
And when I reach Australia
I’ll go and dig for gold.
There’s plenty there for the digging of,
Or so I have been told.
Or else I’ll go back to my trade
And a hundred bricks I’ll lay,
Because I live for an eight-hour shift
On the shores of Botany Bay.
Farewell to your bricks and mortar,
Farewell to your dirty lies,
Farewell to your gangers and gangplanks,
To hell with your overtime,
For the good ship Ragamuffin,
She’s lying at the Quay,
To take old Pat with a shovel on his back
To the shores of Botany Bay.
Traditional Irish
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