The Hundredth Year

Not that I'd quarrel with the way
   They celebrates their hundredth year
In town (said old Pete Parraday),
   But that don't suit us bush blokes here.
So let bells ring and whistles blare
   And fill the town with mighty sound,
Let motor noises tear the air
   An' bonfires light the hills around.
When I'm five score I want some say
In things (said old Peter Parraday).

I've lived me life here in the bush
   (Said Pete) since I was but a boy;
An' all this city noise an' push
   Ain't my idea of showin' joy.
Me ears ain't tooned to sich like noise,
   And fire is like to wake our fear.
Them ain't the things that we enjoys
   When celebratin' birthdays here;
So, if I live so long, I pray
For peace (said old Peter Parraday).

A hundred year's a long, long spell
   To hang about this mad ole earth,
And when man nears his century -- well
   He don't crave much of noisy mirth --
Not for himself, with life near run
   Its length, such comes for others yet;
Not for himself; for he is done,
   With all life's hectic fuss an' fret.
So let me have my foolish way
In this (said old Pete Parraday).

I ask but this, an' nothin' more,
   When comes my hundredth natal day;
Let me sit here beside my door
   And dream (said old Pete Parraday).
While bush birds sing the songs I know,
   And bush sounds that I love the best,
Wake memories of the long ago,
   Let me sit here a while and rest.
Aye, rest, and sleep and, who shall say?
Sleep sound (said old Pete Parraday).