"It's a game, lad," writes ole Ginger, "It's a game I'm likin' grand.
An' I'm tryin' fer a stripe to fill in time.
I 'ave took a pull on shicker fer the honour uv me land,
An' I'm umpty round the chest an' feelin' prime.
Yeh kin tell Rose, if yeh see 'er, I serloots 'er o'er the foam,
An' we'll 'ave a cray fer supper when I comes a-marchin' 'ome."
So ole Ginger sends a letter, an' 'is letter's good to read.
Fer the things 'e sez, an' some things 'e leaves out;
An' when a bloke like 'im wakes up an' starts to take a heed,
Well, it's sort o' worth the writin' 'ome about.
'E's one uv many little things Australia chanced to find
She never knoo she 'ad around till bugles cleared 'er mind.
Becos ole Europe lost 'er block an' started 'eavin' bricks,
Becos the bugles wailed a song uv war.
We found real gold down in the 'earts uv orl our Ginger Micks
We never thort worth minin' fer before.
An' so, I'm tippin' we will pray, before our win is scored:
"Thank God fer Mick, an' Bill an' Jim, an' little brother Clord."
