Let bushmen think as bushmen will,
And say whateer they choose,
I hate to hear the stupid sneer
At New Chum Jackaroos.
He may not ride as you can ride,
Or do what you can do;
But sometimes youd seem small beside
The New Chum Jackaroo.
His share of work he never shirks,
And through the blazing drought,
He lives the old things down, and works
His own salvation out.
When older, wiser chums despond
He battles brave of heart
Twas he who sailed of old beyond
The margin of the chart.
Twas he who proved the world was round
In crazy square canoes;
The lands youre living in were found
By New Chum Jackaroos.
He crossed the deserts hot and bare,
From barren, hungry shores
The plains that you would scarcely dare
With all your tanks and bores.
He fought a way through stubborn hills
Towards the setting sun
Your fathers all and Burke and Wills
Were New Chums, every one.
When England fought with all the world
In those brave days gone by,
And all its strength against her hurled,
He held her honour high.
By Southern palms and Northern pines
Whereer was life to lose
She held her own with thin red lines
Of New Chum Jackaroos.
Through shot and shell and solitudes,
Wherever feet have gone,
The New Chums fought while eye-glass dudes
And Johnnies led them on.
And though he wear a foppish coat,
And these old things forget,
In stormy times Id give a vote
For Cuffs and Collars yet.
