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The Boar’s Head

Words and Music by Ben Scott (c) 2012

I got drunk up in the Boars Head where we’ve often had our fill 
Woke in the back of a Boeing with a thumping in my skull
A-press ganged I was soon to learn and for foreign shores bound
To toil beneath the baking sun in far off Sydney town

Tis a rough old place the lady said as she handed me me tray 
And gave a laugh is if to mean she said it all in play
And I sighed a lengthy lungful and opened up my lot
A more wretched set of rations no man has ever got


And through endless hour on endless hour the rough passage I endured 
And the sounds of screaming children echoed often through the crowd
Then we disembarked in Sydney and were herded up and queued
Till a man in a gravel voice said ‘mate give up all ya fruit’


By the time I escaped his clutches I was getting beyond care
And I wandered out bewildered having no idea where
Till I found a wretched strip of sand in a place they call Bondi
Where many fellow travellers had found a place to lie

And as I lay about there wondering if I’d be free or would be found
I dreamed about the Boars Head and all those pints I’ll never down
And all the tunes I’ll never hear and the friends I’ll nae’r more see
Let’s hope they drink a drop tonight and meet the same fate as me


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