When shearing comes, lay down your drums,
Step on the board, you brand-new chums.
With a ra-dum, ra-dum, rub-a-dub-dub,
We’ll send them home in a lime-juice tub.

Now you have crossed the briny deep,
You fancy that you can shear a sheep.
With a ra-dum, ra-dum, rub-a-dub-dub,
We’ll send them home in a lime-juice tub.

Chorus
Here we are in New South Wales,
Shearing sheep as big as whales,
With leather necks and daggy tails,
And fleece as tough as rusty nails.

There’s cockys’ sons, and new chums,
They fancy that they are great guns;
They think that they can shear the wool,
But the beggars can only tear and pull.

They tar the sheep until they’re nearly black,
It’s roll up, roll up, and get the sack;
Then, looking for shearing work outback,
It’s off they go, on the wallaby track.

Chorus
Here we are in New South Wales,
Shearing sheep as big as whales,
With leather necks and daggy tails,
And fleece as tough as rusty nails.

And when they tire upon the road,
From off their backs they’ll throw their load.
With a ra-dum, ra-dum, rub-a-dub-dub,
We’ll send them home in a lime-juice tub.

At the fading sun they’ll take a look,
And seek some rations from the cook.
With a ra-dum, ra-dum, rub-a-dub-dub,
We’ll send them home in a lime-juice tub.

Chorus
Here we are in New South Wales,
Shearing sheep as big as whales,
With leather necks and daggy tails,
And fleece as tough as rusty nails.

They camp in huts without any doors,
And sleep upon the dirty floors;
A pannikin of flour, and a sheet of bark,
To cook some damper in the dark.

It’s home, it’s home, they’d like to be,
Not humping their drum in this country;
It’s sixteen thousand miles they’ve come,
To march along with a blanket drum.

Chorus
Here we are in New South Wales,
Shearing sheep as big as whales,
With leather necks and daggy tails,
And fleece as tough as rusty nails