'Twas
Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling
craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him
many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to
be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new
machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of
lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me,
can you ride?"
"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill,
"from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can
ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk I hate a man that
blows.
"But riding is my special gift, my chiefest,
sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wild cat can it
fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of
flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle,
hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths
and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right
straight away at sight."
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own
abode,
That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the
mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the
fray,
But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a
silver streak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead
Man's Creek.
It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big
white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the
rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper
underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every
bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a
fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could
be;
And then, as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing
shriek,
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's
Creek.
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam
ashore;
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively
rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a
five-pound bet,
But this was sure the derndest ride that I've
encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken
all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and
buck and swerve,
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek. we'll leave it
lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga
Bill."
by
A.B.
(Banjo) Patterson
