The bastard from the bush. A poem by Banjo Paterson
The Poem by Banjo Paterson
The bastard from the bush is a very dirty poem by the famous Australian poet Banjo Paterson, who is on our Australian $10 note.
I want to tell you a clean story first about one of the characters I knew when I grew up in the bush.
He was Irish, and when I met him he was in his forties, but the Irish can live forever, so he could still be alive.
I knew him as Paddy Cain, so no offense if your still around Paddy.
Paddy Cain was an Australian spud farmer. He grew spuds or potatoes on the top of a slope that was facing the sun, and although the fences had been down for years, and he never cleaned out the tussocks it was apparently pretty good spud dirt, or so paddy always said when at the pub. If paddy had any money he would head straight for the local pub, and get a good whiskey or six down.
Then he would go all Irish and dance and sing all night, before someone would drive him home to his ramshackle shed on his spud farm or drop him off at Pops place.
Pop was in his eighties and was an agreeable old chap until he got drunk, at which time he would throw punches at anyone in range, preceded by a little whistle, so everyone including Paddy new when to duck, and otherwise everyone liked Pop. Heart of gold, except for the odd right hook, or uppercut he threw at you when drunk, he normally got up early and could cut firewood all day.
Spuds are a hard market.
Paddy would just lie around for a fare bit of the year until he had to plant his spuds. You could tell how Paddy was off for money, he would only plant half the spud paddock if he was broke, even when spud prices were going to be good, so he often missed the market when prices were high.
One year I will always remember, he planted the whole paddock and even killed off a few tussocks and blackberry bushes to give them a bit of space to grow. It was a bad year for spuds in most of our state that year and the weather had been no good for spuds at all, except where Paddy was.
He had the only spud farm in the area, which got good rain and his paddock was loaded with top quality spuds.
I remember seeing the crop as I came out of the gully and his paddock came in to view with it's rich green cover.
He got a bumper crop of spuds that year and... the price of spuds went through the roof at the same time!
Although the full crop was a sight for saw eyes, more amazing was the bender that Paddy went on with the crop money.
He got a taxi to the city some 90 klms away, and disappeared for months.
When he came back he looked ten years older, he was ill and never had a cent left of the spud money which would have been enough to buy another farm, and several pieces of farming equipment that he did not own. He had no tractor, he used one old horse to plow a single row at a time.
I drove past where Paddy used to have his spud farm, the whole area has been developed and no sign remains of a great bush character who was both comic and tragic.
A.B.Paterson 1864 - 1941)
A.B (Andrew Barton) Paterson was a famous poet writer bushman.
He was born in Australia and knew how to spin a yarn better than most.
Here is just one of his many funny poems.It is racist and offensive.
If bad language and deeds offends, do not read this!
The bastard from the bush.
by Banjo Patterson.
As night was falling slowly over city town and bush From down in Jones' alley sloped the Leader of the Push; Then his whistle loud and piercing woke the echoes of the "rocks" And a dozen ghouls came slouching round the corners of the blocks. Then the Leader jerked a finger at a stranger on the curb Whom he qualified politely with an adjective and a verb, Then he made the introduction --"Here's a bloke in from the bush; Fuck me blind he wants to join us and be a member of the push \ "Why fuck ya dead ,I'm 'Foreskin Ned' The Bastard from the Bush'. Iv'e been in every two up school from Wagga to Waterloo Iv'e swung lax Iv'e fucked Blacks, what more could a Bastard do ? "Are you game to smash a window ?" asked the leader of the push, I'll knock the fuckin house down said the Bastard from the bush "Would you knock a man down and rob him ?" said the leader of the push, "I'd knock him down and fuck him ,"said the Bastard from the bush. "In deed"...... "In fuckin shit". "Would you bash a fuckin copper if you caught the cunt alone Would you stoush a swell or chinese cunt ,slit his throat with a stone, Would ya have a whore to keep ya ,would ya swear off work for good?" Said The Bastard "My Kerlonial Silver Mouthed Fukin Oath I would!." "Would you care to have a cigarette?" said the leader of the push, "I'll take the fuckin packet <" said the Bastard from the bush,! "Would you take a babies candy?" said the leader of the push, "I'd take a babies maiden " said The Bastard from the bush. So the Push-ite's all took council,saying "Fuck me but he's brave, We'll make him our star basher,he'll live up to his name." So they took him to their hide -out,that Bastard from the bush And granted him all privilages appertaining to the push But soon they found his little ways were more than they could stand, So finally their Leader addressed his little band "Now listen her you buggers we've caught a fuckin tarter, At every kind of blugin this bastard is a starter. At poker and at two up he shook our bloody rolls, He swiped our fuckin' liquor and he's fucked our fuckin molls." So down in Jones' alley all the members of the Push. Laid a dark and dirty ambush for that Bastard from the bush But against the wall of Riley's pub ,the bastard made a stand, An ugly grin upon his face a bike chain in his hand They fell uipon him in a bunch and one by one they fell, With crunch of bones ,unearthly groans,and one by one they fell, Till their torn and tattered leader spitting teeth and gouts of blood, Held and ear all torn and bleeding in a hand ingrained with mud, "You low polluted bastard," snarled the leader of the Push, "Get back to where your type belong,that's somewhere in the bush, And may heaps of misfortune soon tumble down on you May some lousy harlot dose you ,till your balls turn sky blue May the pains of windy spasms through your bowels dart, May you shit your fucking trouses every time you try to fart. May you take a swig of gins piss, mistaking it for beer, May the next Push you impose yourself on, toss you out on your fucking ear! May itching piles torment you ,may puss grow out your feet, May crabs as big as spiders attack your balls a treat And when your down and out and a hopeless bloody wreck May you slip back through your arshole and break your fucking neck.
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