Down The River

By Henry Lawson

Ive done with joys an misery, An why should I repine? Theres no one knows the past but me An that ol dog o mine. We camp an walk an camp an walk, An find it fairly good; He can do anything but talk, An he wouldnt if he could. We sits an thinks beside the fire, With all the stars a-shine, An no one knows our thoughts but me An that there dog o mine. We has our Johnny-cake an scrag, An finds em fairly good; He can do anything but talk, An he wouldnt if he could. He gets a possum now an then, I cooks it on the fire; He has his water, me my tea, What more could we desire? He gets a rabbit when he likes, We finds it pretty good; He can do anything but talk, An he wouldnt if he could. I has me smoke, he has his rest, When sunsets gettin dim; An if I do get drunk at times, Its all the same to him. So longs hes got me swag to mind, He thinks that times is good; He can do anything but talk, An he wouldnt if he could. He gets his tucker from the cook, For cook is good to him, An when I sobers up a bit, He goes an has a swim. He likes the rivers where I fish, An all the world is good; He can do anything but talk, An he wouldnt if he could.