I-M travellin- down the Castlereagh, and I-m a station hand,
I-m handy with the ropin- pole, I-m handy with the brand,
And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day,
But there-s no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh. +

So it-s shift, boys, shift, for there isn-t the slightest doubt
That we-ve got to make a shift to the stations further out,
With the pack-horse runnin- after, for he follows like a dog,
We must strike across the country at the old jig-jog.

This old black horse I-m riding-if you-ll notice what-s his brand,
He wears the crooked R, you see-none better in the land.
He takes a lot of beatin-, and the other day we tried,
For a bit of a joke, with a racing bloke, for twenty pounds a side.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn-t the slightest doubt
That I had to make him shift, for the money was nearly out;
But he cantered home a winner, with the other one at the flog-
He-s a red-hot sort to pick up with his old jig-jog.

I asked a cove for shearin- once along the Marthaguy:
-We shear non-union here,� says he. -I call it scab,� says I.
I looked along the shearin- floor before I turned to go-
There were eight or ten dashed Chinamen a-shearin- in a row.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn-t the slightest doubt
It was time to make a shift with the leprosy about.
So I saddled up my horses, and I whistled to my dog,
And I left his scabby station at the old jig-jog.

I went to Illawarra, where my brother-s got a farm,
He has to ask his landlord-s leave before he lifts his arm;
The landlord owns the country side-man, woman, dog, and cat,
They haven-t the cheek to dare to speak without they touch their hat.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn-t the slightest doubt
Their little landlord god and I would soon have fallen out;
Was I to touch my hat to him?-was I his bloomin- dog?
So I makes for up the country at the old jig-jog.

But it-s time that I was movin-, I-ve a mighty way to go
Till I drink artesian water from a thousand feet below;
Till I meet the overlanders with the cattle comin- down,
And I-ll work a while till I make a pile, then have a spree in town.

So, it-s shift, boys, shift, for there isn-t the slightest doubt
We-ve got to make a shift to the stations further out;
The pack-horse runs behind us, for he follows like a dog,
And we cross a lot of country at the old jig-jog.