There’s Nothing Worse Than Shearing

I think this poem speaks for itself about a back breaking

job that should be undertaken only by masochists.

There’s Nothing Worse Than Shearing.

I’m not a one to criticize

A man and what he does,

As long as he can do it well

With the least amount of fuss;

But I’ve been reading lately

That some fellows firmly claim,

Picking stumps will break one’s back

And so will sugar cane.

And though I’m not denying

These aren’t the best of trades,

I still maintain, and always will,

“Get them on the blades”

That’s the job, I tell you,

To sort the men out from the boys,

It guarantees top misery

With hardly any joys.

You shear those stinking wethers

As they struggle at your feet,

And you can be assured, mates,

Their smell is far from sweet.

The cocky’s always moaning

That you’ve cut his priceless rams,

And the board boss keeps insisting

That you’re bludging on the stands.

The tucker’s always lousy

‘Cause the cook is always soused,

The beds before you use them

Have got to be deloused.

You don’t know you’re alive, mate,

Till you’ve had shearers’ boils,

Or until the belyando spew

Is clawing at your coils,

And back ache! You’re complaining!

Back ache! That’s a flamin’ laugh,

A shearer keeps on working

Though his back’s near broke in half.

Believe me, I’m not decrying

That picking stumps is hard,

That cutting cane comes pretty close

To breaking a man’s heart,

But those two jobs are cushy

Compared to Vermont ewes,

Just spend a day defleecing them

And see which job you’d choose.

So get back to those stumps, lads,

Cut down that sugar cane,

And thank your lucky stars

You’re not in the shearing game.

written by V. P. Read.