THE REGISTER
These are the boys of the good old mob
No matter what the weather,
These are the boys of the good old mob
that always pull together.
These are the boys that laugh and pass
Still young, the years they weather;
These are the boys of the good old mob
Who always pull together.
••••
Adams, F. V., pioneer, ’twas his noble brother Bill
Who won the Battle of Waterloo, they tell the story still.
Allen, R. C., postal clerk, a novice in the crew,
Shaping well at “mopping up”—think that he will do.
Bakor, I. V., railway head, is rather on the serious side;
Gags from William Shakeseare at any time supplied.
Barry, T. J., postal clerk, the fastest talker known;
We'll bet a hundred any time he'll stop a gramophone.
Bignell, C. V., engineer, and a hell of a cove to go,
Believes in keeping “engines” running at top, you know.
Bourke, T. J., horse trainer, all the tricks of the game knows well,
An Irishman, with a Scotch horse, known as Sandy Bell.
Brown, H. V., ex-soldier, fought in the Boer War,
Though very quiet and peaceful—never known to roar.
Cairney, T. V., boiler boss, and good sport all the time,
A demon in the garden, chasing slugs with lime.
Casey, P. M., contractor, an amateur jockster, who
Once rode Tommy Allerton and rode him right well, too.
Casey, W. A., ex-soldier, as a Chow talker he ranks high
‘‘Quong lee fat soy—quee moy, quee soy, How gui?”
Chalk, H. B., ex-soldier, our pianist, if you please;
A rival to St. Peter (Boss Commander of the Keys).
