Out on the board the old shearer stands
Grasping his shears in his thin bony hands;
Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied joe
Glory if he gets her, won't he make the ringer go
Click go the shears boys, click, click, click
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied joe
In the middle of the floor in his cane-bottomed chair
Sits the boss of the board with his eyes everywhere
Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen
Paying strict attention that it's taken off clean
Click go the shears boys, click, click, click
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied joe
The colonial-experience man he is there, of course,
With his shiny leggin's, just got off his horse,
Casting round his eye like a real connoisseur
Whistling the old tune "I'm the Perfect Lure".
The tar-boy is there waiting in demand
♪
With his blackened tar-pot, in his tarry hand
Spies one old sheep with a cut upon its back
Hears what he's waiting for it's "Tar here, Jack!"
Click go the shears boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick,
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And he curses the old snagger with the blue-bellied "joe".
First you take the belly-wool and niggle out the crutch,
Go up the neck, for the rules they are such,
Clean around the horns and the first shoulder down,
A long blow up the back and turn her around.
Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click.
Wide is his blow and his hands are movin' quick,
And the ringer looks around and he's beaten by a blow
And he curses that old snagger with the blue-bellied ewe.
Shearing is all over and we've all got our cheques,
Roll up your swag for we're off on the tracks,
The first pub we come to, it's there we'll have a spree,
And everyone that comes along it's, "Come and drink with me!"
Click go the shears boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick,
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And he curses the old snagger with the blue-bellied "joe".
Down by the bar the old shearer stands,
Grasping his glass in his thin bony hands,
Fixed is his gaze on a green-painted keg
Glory, he'll get down on it, ere he stirs a peg.
Click go the shears boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick,
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And he curses the old snagger with the blue-bellied "joe".
There we leave him standing, shouting for all hands,
Whilst all around him every shouter stands,
His eyes are on the cask, which is now lowering fast,
He works hard, he drinks hard and goes to hell at last.
Click go the shears boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick,
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And he curses the old snagger with the blue-bellied "joe".