Click go the shears boys, click, click, click
Wide is his blow and his hands they move quick!
There's a ringer looking 'round and he's beaten by a blow,
Curse the old snagger with the bare-bellied Joe!

Out on the boards the old shearer stands,
Grasping his shears in his thin bony hands,
Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied yoe,
Glory if he gets her, won't he make the ringer go!

The tar-boy is there and he's waiting in demand,
With his blackened tarpot in his tarry hands,
Spies and old sheep with a cut upon his back,
Hears what he's waiting for, it's "Tar here, Jack!"

In the middle of the floor in his cane-bottomed chair,
Sits the boss of the board with his eyes everywhere,
Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen,
Paying attention that it's taken off clean.

The colonial experience man, he's there of course!
With his shiny leggings on - just got off his horse.
Gazes around him like a real connoisseur,
Soap and brilliantine; smelling like a whore! (sewer!)

Now the shearing is over, we've all got our cheques,
Roll up your swags and it's off down the trace,
The first pub we come to, it's there we'll have a spree,
Everyone who comes has a drink on me!