The Way I Treated Father [A Bush Song]

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I WORKED with father in the bush
  At splitting rails and palings.
He never was unkind to me,
  Although he “had his failings:”
And now his grave is old and green,
  And now at times I’m rather
Inclined to think ’twas very mean
  The way I treated father.

The mother had for years been dead,
  And Dad and I and Stumpy
Were living in a little shed—
  What bushmen call a humpy;
And now I think when day began,
  And it was cold and chilly,
’Twas mean to see a grey old man
  Get up and boil the billy.

And though my lazy limbs were stiff;
  And though ’twas winter weather.
And though my eyes were shut as if
  The lids were glued together,
I think ’twas mean to lie in bed;
  I think that I was silly,
Because I growled if father said,
  “Git up and bile the billy!”

I didn’t help the cooking much
  For I was always “tired”—
’Twas strange that I could eat with such
  An appetite as I had;
But now I mind I never growled
  When father shouted, “Willie!
It’s gittin’ on for dinnertime;
  Go home and bile the hilly.”

His grave is growing old and green
  And things have altered rather;
But still I think ’twas mighty mean
  The way I treated father.
He left a tidy sum to me,
  But I’d give all the money
To hear him say, “Will you get up
  And bile the billy, Sonny?”

© Henry Lawson