Chorus

Oh! it’s broiling in the morning,

It’s toiling in the morning,

It’s broiling in the morning,

It’s toiling all day long.

Into the park I took a stroll—

I felt just like a buttered roll.

A pretty name “The Sunny South!”

A better one “The Land of Drouth!”

Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.

Next day into the bush I went,

On wild adventure I was bent,

Dame Nature’s wonders I’d explore,

All thought of danger would ignore.

Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.

The mosquitoes and bull-dog ants

Assailed me even through my pants.

It nearly took my breath away

To hear the jackass laugh so gay!

Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.

This lovely country, I’ve been told,

Abounds in silver and in gold.

You may pick it up all day,

Just as leaves in autumn lay!

Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.

Marines will chance this yarn believe,

But bluejackets you can’t deceive.

Such pretty stories will not fit,

Nor can I their truth admit.

Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.

Some say there’s lots of work to do.

Well, yes, but then, ’twixt me and you,

A man may toil and broil all day—

The big, fat man gets all the pay,

Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.

Mayhap such good things there may be,

But you may have them all, for me,

Instead of roaming foreign parts

I wish I’d studied the Fine Arts!

Chorus: Oh! it’s broiling, &c.