Gimme the town an’ its clamour an’ clutter; I ain’t very fond of the bush; For my cobbers are coves of the gardens and gutter— A tough metropolitan push. I ain’t never too keen on the countryfied life; It’s the hustle an’ bustle for me an’ me wife. So I swagger an’ strut an’ I cuss an’ I swagger; I’m wise to the city’s hard way. A bit of a bloke an’ a bit of a bragger; I’ve always got plenty to say. Learned thro’ knockin’ about since my people came out From the land at the back of Bombay. When out in the bush I am never a ranger; There never ain’t nothin’ to see. Besides, them bush birds got no time for a stranger; So town an’ the traffic for me. I sleep in the gardens an’ loaf in the street, An’ sling off all day at the fellers I meet. An’ I swagger an’ scold an’ strut an’ I swagger, An’ pick up me fun where I can, Or tell off me wife, who’s a bit of a nagger, Or scrap with the sparrers for scran. A bonzer at bluffin’, I give you my word, For, between you an’ me, I’m a pretty tough bird.