The girls are on strike boss, we,re not coming in today,
They want Lizzie re-instated boss, and with a rise in pay
Lizzie is their leader and leads us in just right
To get us sheared and clipped and settled for the night.
Not like those heathen shearers, who drag us in on our backs
And drag us over all those splintery lumps and horrible drafty cracks.
And then they lean all over us , and all their sweat just drips.
No way to treat a lady! Enough to give you the pips!
Lizzie was the rousy, she threw the fleece and guided all the girls. Gently into the shearing shed, where they lost all their curls. That was of course, until the boss she told
No way she.d make the coffee or even go and get the beer, especially not bloody cold.
So now we have a problem, while ten shearers scratch their bums, the sheep are all on strike mate, five thousand dead set chums. The dogs are getting edgy and and patrolling round the pens and I am sure boss, that ones rounding up the hens.
I spose you.d better get her, before she leaves for town,
And don’t you bloody tell her, whats been going down.
She,d get a swelled head, no way she,d fit her hat
No need to boost her ego mate, the sheep have done all that!
Then go and find the ring leader, and tell her to damn well stop
Or she will find herself served up for tea, tell her she will be the chop! Go and get those shearers and the dogs back on track,
I am off to get my coffee, and then I will be back!
Another in my series Drovers Diary, this ones for all the shearers.