Wangled by the Wayside

"Country blokes is kind," he said,
   And sat upon his swag
(I had no pipe tobacco,
   So he said he'd "risk a fag.")
"A country bloke's my sort o' bloke,
   As I've had cause to find.
Them city coves is cold as mud:
   But country blokes is kind.

"Now, f'rinstance, just you take yerself.
   I meets you on the road,
A stranger, fur as I'm concerned --
   A cove I've never knowed.
An' when I sprags you for a smoke,
   I'll bet you didn't mind.
You done your best; tho' fags is muck.
   Country blokes is kind.

"Country hearts is rightly placed
   A every battler knows.
If I'd have asked you for a feed,
   Or p'raps some carst-off clo'es,
I'll wager you'd have searched your house
   For all that you could find
In shape of tucker or of duds,
   Yes; country blokes is kind.

"But city coves! -- I ain't been there
   For years -- nigh on fifteen.
But lately I meandered down
   Just for a change of scene
But rekernise a human bean?
   They ain't that way inclined,
That crowd of stone-eyed strangers there.
   Not like the conutry kind.

"To ask a bob for food or drink
   In cities is a sin,
An' they goes an' calls a copper,
   An' the copper turns you in.
But, if you pitch a likely tale,
   Most like you don't git fined.
So I hoofs it back to country scenes
   Where blokes is nice and kind.

"So here I am, back in the bush,
   Still battlin' an' dead-broke.
An' the minnit I seen you I sez,
   'Now, there's a country bloke,'
I sez.  'He's got that sort of face.'
   I'm broke, but I'm not blind.
Stone-broke ... Well, I best push along ...
   Thanks.  Country blokes is kind."