Orbler
Byron Twain
Brenton
Dexter
Jeanne Dininni
Shilpa KarhikThe Man form Ironbark by Banjo Patterson
November 22nd 2006 01:21
The Man from Ironbark
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop.
`'Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I'll be a man of mark,
I'll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.'
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash, he smoked a huge cigar:
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a `tote', whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered `Here's a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark.'
There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber's wall,
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink, his dexter eyelid shut,
`I'll make this bloomin' yokel think his bloomin' throat is cut.'
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
`I s'pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark.'
A grunt was all reply he got; he shaved the bushman's chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim's throat;
Upon the newly shaven skin it made a livid mark --
No doubt it fairly took him in -- the man from Ironbark.
He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd'rous foe:
`You've done for me! you dog, I'm beat! one hit before I go!
I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
But you'll remember all your life, the man from Ironbark.'
He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber's jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with tooth and nail, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And `Murder! Bloody Murder!' yelled the man from Ironbark.
A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said, `'Twas all in fun --
'Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.'
`A joke!' he cried, `By George, that's fine; a lively sort of lark;
I'd like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.'
And now while round the shearing floor the list'ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o'er and o'er, and brags of his escape.
`Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I've had enough,
One tried to cut my bloomin' throat, but thank the Lord it's tough.'
And whether he's believed or no, there's one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop.
`'Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I'll be a man of mark,
I'll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.'
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash, he smoked a huge cigar:
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a `tote', whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered `Here's a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark.'
There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber's wall,
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink, his dexter eyelid shut,
`I'll make this bloomin' yokel think his bloomin' throat is cut.'
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
`I s'pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark.'
A grunt was all reply he got; he shaved the bushman's chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim's throat;
Upon the newly shaven skin it made a livid mark --
No doubt it fairly took him in -- the man from Ironbark.
He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd'rous foe:
`You've done for me! you dog, I'm beat! one hit before I go!
I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
But you'll remember all your life, the man from Ironbark.'
He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber's jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with tooth and nail, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And `Murder! Bloody Murder!' yelled the man from Ironbark.
A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said, `'Twas all in fun --
'Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.'
`A joke!' he cried, `By George, that's fine; a lively sort of lark;
I'd like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.'
And now while round the shearing floor the list'ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o'er and o'er, and brags of his escape.
`Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I've had enough,
One tried to cut my bloomin' throat, but thank the Lord it's tough.'
And whether he's believed or no, there's one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
Banjo is our most valuable poet
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Comment by Bush Poet and Balladeer
Bush Poetry Ballads and Yarns
Did you ever wonder what happened to the Man from Ironbark.
Sequel.
MURDER! BLOODY, MURDER!
From Hornsby down to Campbelltown, from Penrith to Bondi,
Each suburb 'round old Sydney town had heard the newsboy's cry.
"It's murder, bloody, murder folks, it's ten who've come to grief!"
And even folk from Redfern way would cringe in disbelief.
There was a ghastly pattern to this madman's mixed up mind,
For all his victims up till now were barbers of a kind.
They all were found with bloodied throats, yes, slit from ear to ear;
The weapon found at ev'ry scene was razor sharp I fear.
No gilded youth would dare set foot in any barber's shop
And long hair was a common thing on ev'ry Sydney cop.
The barber's union secret'ry got calls of, "Help us please!"
While rumour has it Stefan's left and ducked off overseas.
Detectives were in search of clues and combed computer files,
Profilers sat and scratched their heads relying on their wiles.
Was jealousy the motive then to thin the barbers ranks?
Or were the killings sweet revenge, a payback for their pranks.
The coroner then found a clue beneath the victims nails;
Some facial hair of quite some length, the kind you find on males.
Forensic hoped to crack the case with new technology,
Revealing its genetic code to solve the mystery.
A little band of scientists were soon to ascertain
The facial hair was known to them, a rather unique strain.
It matched the hair some peeler kept of some up-country chap;
Some barber tried to cut his throat and caused a violent scrap.
They say it was a harmless joke, done simply for a lark
And records showed the victim was from up at Ironbark.
Detectives then swooped on the town and searched from house to house
And took a sample from the beard of ev'ry youth and spouse.
To their surprise they found a match and strike me don't you know;
It was the grandson of the man those many years ago.
They took him in to custody and found beneath his beard
A livid mark from ear to ear just as they all had feared.
It seems that ruckus years ago had traumatised the mind
Of ev'ry male his granddad bore, according to his kind.
And so another case was solved ... but wait ... there's news 'round town
That Sydney had some arsonist now burning bike shops down.
Detectives say they've found a note which has them baffled still.
"My granddad hailed from Eaglehawk and suffered from a spill"
© Bush Poet and Ballad Writer - Merv Webster
Your text goes here
Most of us were brought up on the verses of Banjo Paterson and enjoyed the humorous tales of 'The Man From Ironbark' and 'Mulga Bill's Bicycle'. Today's world is a very different place and the irony of it all is that the above scenario could possibly happen. Scary, eh!
Comment by jasmine
I look forward to reading more of your rhymes on your Bush Poetry Ballads and Yarns site.
Cheers, Jasmine
Comment by Anonymous
HI ^^ ... I suppose that was ok...
Aish.. ^^ Anyways... I kinda like this type of writing
Comment by Anonymous
HI ^^ ... I suppose that was ok...
Aish.. ^^ Anyways... I kinda like this type of writing
Comment by Anonymous
Comment by Anonymous