Ive just received a letter from a chum in Maoriland,
Hes working down in Auckland where he days hes doing grand,
The climates cooler there, but hearts are warmer, says my chum,
He sends the passage money, and he says Id better come.
(Id like to see his face again, Id like to grip his hand),
He says hes sure that Ill get on first-rate in Maoriland.
An tho he makes the best of things (it always was his style),
You mostly get on better in a new land for a while,
An when I see the fading line of my own native shore,
Ill let it fade, and never want to see it anymore.
Im tire of Sydney pavements, and the Western scrub and sand,
Id rather fight my troubles for a change in Maoriland.
Im off to make inquiries as to when the next boat sails,
Im sick of all these colonies, but most of New South Wales,
An if you meet a friend of mine who wants to find my track,
Say you, Hes gone to Maoriland, and isnt coming back.
An should it be the landlord or the rates, you understand,
Just say youll find him somewhere knocking round in Maoriland.
