Hay and Hell and Booligal

‘ You come and see me, boys,’ he said;

‘ You'll find a welcome and a bed

And whisky any time you call;

Although our township has n't got

The name of quite a lively spot —

You see, I live in Booligal.

‘ And people have an awful down

Upon the district and the town —

Which worse than hell itself they call;

In fact, the saying far and wide

Along the Riverina side

Is “Hay and Hell and Booligal”.

‘ No doubt it suits‘ em very well

To say it's worse than Hay or Hell,

But do n't you heed their talk at all;

Of course, there's heat — no one denies —

And sand and dust and stacks of flies,

And rabbits, too, at Booligal.

‘ But such a pleasant, quiet place,

You never see a stranger's face —

They hardly ever care to call;

The drovers mostly pass it by;

They reckon that they'd rather die

Than spend a night in Booligal.

‘ The big mosquitoes frighten some —

You'll lie awake to hear‘ em hum —

And snakes about the township crawl;

But shearers, when they get their cheque,

They never come along and wreck

The blessed town of Booligal.

‘ But down in Hay the shearers come

And fill themselves with fighting-rum,

And chase blue devils up the wall,

And fight the snaggers every day,

Until there is the deuce to pay —

There's none of that in Booligal.

‘ Of course, there is n't much to see —

The billiard-table used to be

The great attraction for us all,

Until some careless, drunken curs

Got sleeping on it in their spurs,

And ruined it, in Booligal.

‘ Just now there is a howling drought

That pretty near has starved us out —

It never seems to rain at all;

But, if there SHOULD come any rain,

You could n't cross the black-soil plain —

You'd have to stop in Booligal.’

‘ WE'D HAVE TO STOP!’ With bated breath

We prayed that both in life and death

Our fate in other lines might fall:

‘ Oh, send us to our just reward

In Hay or Hell, but, gracious Lord,

Deliver us from Booligal!’