When you see a man come walking down through George Street loose and free,
Suit of saddle tweed and soft shirt, and a belt and cabbagetree,
With the careless swing and carriage, and the confidence you lack-
There is freedom in Australia! he-s a man that-s clinging back.
Clingin- back,
Holdin- back,
To the old things and the bold things clinging back.
When you see a woman riding as I saw one ride to-day
Down the street to Milson-s Ferry on a big, upstanding bay,
With her body gently swaying to the horse-shoes- click-a-clack,
You might lift your hat (with caution)-she-s a girl who-s clinging back.
Clinging back,
Swinging back.
To the old things and the bold things clinging back.

When you see a rich man pulling on the harbour in a boat,
With the motor launches racing till they scarcely seem to float,
And the little skiff is lifting to his muscles tense and slack,
You say -Go it� to a sane man. He-s a man that-s clinging back.
Clinging back,
Swinging back,
To the old things and the bold things clinging back.

When you see two lovers strolling, arm-in-arm-or round the waist,
And they never seem to loiter, and they never seem to haste,
But indifferent to others take the rock or bush-hid track
You be sure about their future, they-re a pair that-s clinging back.
Clinging back,
Holding back,
To the old things and the bold things clinging back.

I, a weary picture writer in a time that-s cruel plain,
Have been clinging all too sadly to what shall not come again,
To what shall not come and should not! for the silver-s mostly black,
And the gold a dull red copper by the springs where I held back.
Clinging back,
Holding back,
To the old things and the cold things clinging back.

But if you should read a writer sending truths home every time,
While his every -point� goes ringing like the grandest prose in rhyme,
Though he writes the people-s grammar, and he spreads the people-s -clack,�
He is stronger than the Public! and he-ll jerk the mad world back.
Yank it back,
Hold it back,
For the love of little children hold it back.