Australian Classics
Songs |
Poems |
I AM AUSTRALIAN - THE SEEKERS (1987)
'I am Australian' was written by Bruce Woodley and Dobe Newton in 1987. The lyrics contain a lot of history, referring to the first indigenous peoples of the land, european settlement, the gold rush, art, bush rangers and the earth. It shows the diversity of Australia and that we are proud to be Australian. I came from the dreamtime From the dusty red soil plains I am the ancient heart The keeper of the flames I Stood upon the rocky shore I watched the tall ships come For forty thousand years I've been the first Australian I came upon the prison ships Bound down by iron chains I cured the land Endured the lash And waited for the rains I'm a settler I'm a farmers wife On a dry and barren run A convict and a free man I became Australian I'm a daughter of a digger Who sought the mother load The girl became a women On the long and dusty road I'm a child of the depression I saw the good time come I'm a bushy I'm a battler I am Australian We are one But we are many And from all the lands on earth we come We'll share a dream And sing with one voice I am, you are, we are Australian I'm a teller of stories I'm a singer of songs I am Albert Namatjira And I paint the ghostly gums I'm Clancy on his horse I'm Ned Kelly on the run I'm the one who waltzed matilda I am Australian I'm the hot wind from the desert I'm the black soil of the plain I'm the mountains and the valleys I'm the drowned and flooding rains I am the rock I am the sky The rivers when they run The spirit of this great land I am Australian We are one But we are many And from all the lands on earth we come We'll share a dream And sing with one voice I am, you are, we are Australian We are one But we are many And from all the lands on earth we come We'll share a dream And sing with one voice I am, you are, we are Australian. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jD3SkTyXzcE BEDS ARE BURNING - MIDNIGHT OIL (1987)
'Beds are Burning' by Midnight Oil was released in 1987. This song addresses the issue of the europeans claiming the land of the aboriginals and points out that it is time to say sorry and to own up for it. This is shown in key phrases such as 'It belongs to them, let's give it back' and 'The time has come, to say fair's fair' . Out where the river broke The bloodwood and the desert oak Holden wrecks and boiling diesels Steam in forty five degrees The time has come To say fair's fair To pay the rent To pay our share The time has come A fact's a fact It belongs to them Let's give it back How can we dance When our earth is turning How do we sleep While our beds are burning How can we dance When our earth is turning How do we sleep While our beds are burning The time has come To say fair's fair To pay the rent Now to pay our share Four wheels scare the cockatoos From Kintore East to Yuendemu The western desert lives and breathes In forty five degrees The time has come To say fair's fair To pay the rent To pay our share The time has come A fact's a fact It belongs to them Let's give it back How can we dance When our earth is turning How do we sleep While our beds are burning How can we dance When our earth is turning How do we sleep While our beds are burning The time has come To say fair's fair To pay the rent now To pay our share The time has come A fact's a fact It belongs to them We're gonna give it back How can we dance When our earth is turning How do we sleep While our beds are burning https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejorQVy3m8E We're Bound for Botany Bay - Unknown
'We're Bound for Botany Bay' has an unknown release date and artist as there are many different versions. These lyrics tell the story of a european convict who came over in the first fleet. Farewell to old England forever Farewell to my rum culls as well Farewell to the well known Old Bailey Where I used for to cut such a swell Singing Tooral liooral liaddity Singing Tooral liooral liay Singing Tooral liooral liaddity And we're bound for Botany Bay There's the captain as is our commander There's the bosun and all the ship's crew There's the first and the second class passengers Knows what we poor convicts go through Singing Tooral liooral liaddity Singing Tooral liooral liay Singing Tooral liooral liaddity And we're bound for Botany Bay Taint leaving old England we cares about Taint cos we mis-spells what we knows But because all we light fingered gentry Hops around with a log on our toes Singing Tooral liooral liaddity Singing Tooral liooral liay Singing Tooral liooral liaddity And we're bound for Botany Bay These seven long years I've been serving now And seven long more have to stay All for bashing a bloke down our alley And taking his ticker away Singing Tooral liooral liaddity Singing Tooral liooral liay Singing Tooral liooral liaddity And we're bound for Botany Bay Oh had I the wings of a turtle dove I'd soar on my pinions so high Slap bang to the arms of my Polly love And in her sweet presence I'd die Singing Tooral liooral liaddity Singing Tooral liooral liay Singing Tooral liooral liaddity And we're bound for Botany Bay Now all my young Dookies and Dutchesses Take warning from what I've to say Mind all is your own as you toucheses Or you'll find us in Botany Bay Singing Tooral liooral liaddity Singing Tooral liooral liay Singing Tooral liooral liaddity And we're bound for Botany Bay https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEYseM_R6Hk |
KATH WALKER - A SONG OF HOPE
Kath Walker (Oodgeroo) was a famous aboriginal poet, she wrote about her experiences and this poem is about the aboriginals moving forward from what the europeans did to them. Kath Walker is saying that things will get better all you have to do is hold on to hope. I believe this is a strong message that we should all, no matter our race or religion, should keep in mind as it is an inspirational message to live by. Look up, my people, The dawn is breaking The world is waking To a bright new day When none defame us No restriction tame us Nor colour shame us Nor sneer dismay. Now brood no more On the years behind you The hope assigned you Shall the past replace When a juster justice Grown wise and stronger Points the bone no longer At a darker race. So long we waited Bound and frustrated Till hate be hated And caste deposed Now light shall guide us No goal denied us And all doors open That long were closed. See plain the promise Dark freedom-lover! Night's nearly over And though long the climb New rights will greet us New mate ship meet us And joy complete us In our new Dream Time. To our fathers' fathers The pain, the sorrow; To our children's children the glad tomorrow. Kath Walker - Source: https://www.qut.edu.au/about/oodgeroo/oodgeroo-noonuccal
THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER - ANDREW PATERSON
'The Man From Snowy River' was written by Andrew Patterson. It is an Australian famous poem about the Aussie mountains and a bushranger. It is of an exceptional literary standard and is very interpretative. In Australia there is an annual 'Man From Snowy River' festival to celebrate. There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around That the colt from old Regret had got away And had joined the wild bush horses he was worth a thousand pound, So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far Had mustered at the homestead overnight, For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are, And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight. There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup, The old man with his hair as white as snow; But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up He would go wherever horse and man could go. And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, No better horseman ever held the reins, For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand He learned to ride while droving on the plains. And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast; He was something like a racehorse undersized, With a touch of Timor pony three parts thoroughbred at least, And such as are by mountain horsemen prized. He was hard and tough and wiry just the sort that won't say die There was courage in his quick impatient tread; And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye, And the proud and lofty carriage of his head. But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay, And the old man said, "That horse will never do For a long and tiring gallop lad, you'd better stop away, Those hills are far too rough for such as you. "So he waited, sad and wistful only Clancy stood his friend "I think we ought to let him come," he said; "I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end, For both his horse and he are mountain bred." "He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side, Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough; Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride, The man that holds his own is good enough. And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home, Where the river runs those giant hills between; I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam, But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen." So he went; they found the horses by the big mimosa clump, They raced away toward the mountain's brow, And the old man gave his orders "Boys, go at them from the jump, No use to try for fancy riding now. And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right; Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight, If once they gain the shelter of those hills." So Clancy rode to wheel them he was racing on the wing, Where the best and boldest riders take their place, And he raced his stock-horse past them and he made the ranges ring With the stock whip, as he met them face to face. Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash, But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, And they charged beneath the stock whip with a sharp and sudden dash, And off into the mountain scrub they flew. Then fast the horsemen followed, and the gorges deep and black Resounded to the thunder of their tread, And the stock whips woke the echoes and they fiercely answered back From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way, Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day, No man can hold them down the other side." When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull It might well make the boldest hold their breath; For the wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, And he swung his stock whip round and gave a cheer, And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed, While the others stood and watched in very fear. He sent the flint-stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. Past the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, Down the hillside at a racing pace he went, And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound At the bottom of that terrible descent. He was right among the horses as they climbed the farther hill, And the watchers on the mountain, standing mute, Saw him ply the stock whip fiercely; he was right among them still, As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies metIn the ranges but a final glimpse reveals On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet With the man from Snowy River at their heels. And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam; He followed like a bloodhound on their track, Till they halted, cowed and beaten; then he turned their heads for home, And alone and unassisted brought them back. But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, For never yet was mountain horse a cur. And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise Their torn and rugged battlements on high, Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze At midnight in the cold and frosty sky, And where around the Overflow the reed-beds sweep and sway To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, The Man from Snowy River is a household word today, And the stockmen tell the story of his ride. Source: http://oneworldpublications.com/snowy_river.html
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