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Once I took a job of cooking
For some poddy-dodging cows,
But of all the little jobs I had,
It took the cake for rows
The bloody meat was gone bad,
And the cake it was a sod,
For the damper had gone ropey
It was, so help me Bob.
The tea it looked like water
And the pudding just as bad,
And every time we fork it on,
It made us fellows mad.
One day I thought, "I'll square things,"
And let them see no mug was I,
So I mixed some sniftin' pea soup,
To make them fellows cry.
Half a tin of curry,
To give the stuff a grip,
And half a tin of pepper,
The make them fellows shit.
And half a tin of cow dung,
Singed to make it look like toast,
The stink of it would knock you down,
Like Jesus Holy Ghost.
So the stockmen came in early,
If no tucker - look out for fight,
And "Just hop in here you stockman boys,
For I'll bring some soup to light."
So the plate full each they took,
By cripes it tastes all right,
But nothing like the second helping
To make them bastards shite.
They shit upon the table
They shit upon the floor
The rotten dirty bastards
They never asked for more.
So I snatched my time, went down the line
To try and beat the mob,
And if you're looking for a first class cook
I'm waiting for the job.
Collected by Ron Edwards from the author, then 65-year-old Arthur Croydon of Cairns on 23 January, 1970. Arthur worked as a stockman across the Gulf country.
From the Big Book of Australian Folk Songs.