Click Go The Shears– Some Early Published Versions

Oh, down at the catching pen an old shearer stands,
Grasping his shears in his long bony hands;
Fixed is his gaze on a bare belled ewe, Saying
"If I can only get her, won't I make the ringer go."

Click goes his shears; click, click, click.
Wide are the blows, and his hand is moving quick,
The ringer looks round, for he lost it by a blow,
And he curses that old shearer with the bare belled ewe.

At the end of the board, in a cane bottomed chair,
The boss remains seated with his eyes everywhere;
He marks well each fleece as it comes to the screen,
And he watches where it comes from if not taken off clean.

The "colonial experience" is there of course.
With his silver buckled leggings, he's just off his horse;
With the air of a connoiseur he walks up the floor;
And he whistles that sweet melody, "I am a perfect cure."

"So master new chum, you may now begin,
Muster number seven paddock, bring the sheep all in ;
Leave none behind you, whatever you do,
And then we'll say you'r fit to be a Jackeroo."

The tar boy is there, awaiting all demands,
With his black tarry stick, in his black tarry hands.
He sees an old ewe, with a cut upon the back,
He hears what he supposes is--" Tar here, Jack.”

"Tar on the back, Jack; Tar, boy, tar."
Tar from the middle to both ends of the board.
Jack jumps around, for he has no time to sleep,
And tars the shearer's backs as well as the sheep.

So now the shearing's over, each man has got his cheque,
The hut is as dull as the dullest old wreck;
Where was many a noise and bustle only a few hours before,
Now you can hear it plainly if a pin fall on the floor.

The shearers now are scattered many miles and far;
Some in other sheds perhaps, singing out for "tar."
Down at the bar, there the old shearer stands,
Grasping his glass in his long bony hands.

Saying "Come on, landlord, come on, come!
I'm shouting for all hands, what's yours--mine's a rum ;"
He chucks down his cheque, which is collared in a crack,
And the landlord with a pen writes no mercy on the back!

His eyes they were fixed on a green painted keg,
Saying “I will lower your contents, before I move a peg."
His eyes are on the keg, and are now lowering fast;
He works hard, he dies hard, and goes to heaven at last.

C. C. Eynesbury, Nov. 20, 1891. 

The Shearer's Song

J.R. (Schofields).--This reader has very kindly supplied 

ALL the verses of "The Shearer's
Song" which, he says, is sung to the tune of 

"Ring the Bell. Watchman"

Down by the catching pen the old shearer stands
Grasping his shears in his thin bony hands.
Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied ewe
Saying if I can only get her won't 

I make the ringer go 

Chorus. 

Click goes his shears, boys, click, click, click.
Wide are his blows and his hand moves quick
The "ringer" looks around, he's lost it by a blow.
And he curses that old shearer with the bare-bellied ewe

In the middle of the floor in his cane-bottomed chair
Is the boss of the board, with his eyes every where;
Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen.
Pays strict attention, too, if taken off clean.

Chorus.

Click goes his shears, boys, click, click, click.
Wide are his blows and his hand moves quick.
The old shearer's on with another old ewe.
If he hits the "ringer" this time, Lord, won't he blow!

The colonial experience man, he is there, of course.
Silver-buckled leggings, Just got off his horse.
Casting his eye like a real connoisseur.
Whistling the old melody "I am the Perfect Lure."

Chorus.

Now Mister "Newchum," Just to begin,
Muster No. 7 run and bring the sheep all in.
Leave none behind you, whatever you may do,
And then we may consider you a jackeroo

The tar-boy is there, waiting in demand.
With his black tarry pot and his black tarry hands.
Sees one old sheep with a cut on the back.
Hears what he is waiting for: "Tar here. Jack!" 

Chorus

.

Tar here! Tar-boy! Tar is heard
Right from one end to the other of the board. 

Jack looks around, he has no time to sleep.
So he tars the shearer's pantaloons as well as the sheep.

Down by the bar he old shearer stands.

Grasping his glass in his thin bony hands.
Fixed is his gaze on a green painted keg, saying,
"I'll lower its contents ere I stir a peg." 

Chorus.

Come along, landlord! Come along; come!
I'm shouting for all hands with some good old miners' run.
He chucks down his cheque, which is collared in a crack.
The landlord takes his pen and writes "No mercy" on the back.

There we leave him standing, shouting for all hands.
Whilst all around him every ragged "shooler" stands.
His eyes are on the cask, which now is lowering fast
He works hard! He drinks hard! And he goes to hell at last! 

Chorus of first verse.

The Shearer (1874)

[Tune: Marching Through Georgia]

Now the "pen" is full lads, we'll have another run,

Toil away like jolly dogs until we get them done;
And when they are finished off, and waiting more to come,
Each one his Ward and Payne will sharpen.

Hurrah! hurrah! the yoke is up to-day,
Hurrah! hurrah! we'll work and sing away;
Then let us all be jolly boys, light-hearted and gay,
As we go "wiring" in at shearing.

The "ringer" he is ready now, rush oh lads again,
Nimbly step into the "pen" as others do the same;
Then take your "nanny" on the board, and keep it free from pain,
Whilst off its back the fleece is rolling.

Hear the clicking of the shears as they swiftly glide,
Down the belly, up the neck, and o'er the whipping side;
And watch Groves biting out his open Sorby wide,
Trying all he can to pass the "ringer."

Now the cry is wool, wool, ringing near and far,
Whilst another two or three loudly bawls for tar!
And as the "larrikins" bring it, and daub it on the scar,
Oh! what a rush there is to get the cobbler.

COONATTO. 

Notes

From the South Australian newspaper the Northern Argus Friday 3 April 1874. p. 3.