I was a careless countryman,
Just fresh from out the scrub,
Until I was induced to join
The new athletic club,
Which I reckon quite suffices
To explain the reason why
I wears a plaster on my cheek,
A beefsteak on my eye.
The first time I attended
I was standing at the bar,
And watching what the "fancy" term
An "amicable spar."
When someone jogged my elbow,
And a bull-necked kind of chap
Proposed that he and I should have
A friendly little "scrap."
I'd no kind friend to warn me,
So incautiously consented.
I never yet did aught that I
So fervently repented.
I hear him say, "Put up your 'ands!"
And then I knew no more,
But when I came to life I was
A-weltering in my gore.
How often have I wished that I
Had left that club alone.
My head feels like a pumpkin,
I've an ache in every bone.
My nose is broke, my teeth are loose,
And I can scarcely see.
I pass: I'm off this game -- no more
Athletic clubs for me.
No, nevermore I'll pass that door --
That is, if I survive;
To-morrow I withdraw my name
If I am still alive.
In this here role of chopping-block
I fail to see the fun.
I've had my share, henceforth I swear
Athletic clubs I'll shun.
Oh, if a kindly Providence
Would gratify my whim,
I'd love to yoke the bull-necked chap,
And drop the thing on him.
I'd pay him back with interest
For what he's done to me;
I'd teach him what bull-punchin' means,
I'm game to guarantee.
If I but had him in the team,
His neck beneath the yoke,
He'd find old Bill can still infuse
Some strength into his stroke.
And when his tender cuticle
Began to chip and fly,
He'd p'raps repent the monument when
he popped me in the eye.
Ah, well, who knows? Some day, perhaps
(Heaven send it may come true),
He'll come a-moochin' round the bush
In search of work to do.
And if it should be my good luck
To drop across him there,
I'll bet a merry quid I'd find
Some way of getting square.
First published in Melbourne Punch, 11 December 1906
