Andrew Barton Paterson ( )


Our hero was a Tommy with a conscience free from care, 
And such an open countenance that when he breathed the air 
He mopped up all the atmosphere -- so little went to spare 
You could hardly say he breathed, he commandeered it. 
For nowadays youll notice when a man is on the make, 
And other peoples property is anxious for to take, 
We never use such words as steal, or collar, pinch, or shake. 
No, the fashion is to say we commandeered it. 

And our simple-minded hero used to grumble at his lot, 
Said he, This commandeerins just a little bit too hot, 
A fellow has to carry every blooming thing hes got; 
Whatever he puts down theyll commandeer it. 

So after much anxiety our simple-minded elf 
He thought hed do a little commandeering for himself, 
And the first thing that hed noticed was a bottle on a shelf 
In a cottage, so he thought hed commandeer it. 

What ho! says he, a bottle, and, by George, its full of beer, 
And no commanding officer to come and interfere. 
Heres my own blooming health, says he, Im on the commandeer. 
And without another word he commandeered it. 

On his subsequent proceedings we must draw a little veil, 
For the Boers had left some sheep dip in that bottle labelled Ale; 
But the doctor said hes shift it -- if all other methods fail, 
We must use the stomach pump and commandeer it.

Andrew Barton Paterson's other poems:
  1. How MGinnis went missing
  2. The Dam that Keele Built
  3. How The Favourite Beat Us
  4. The Story of Mongrel Grey
  5. On the Trek

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