<h2> Knocked Up </h2>
<p>I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought,<br/>
And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out;<br/>
I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow —<br/>
I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now.<br/>
<br/>
<i>Oh it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin', in flies an' dust an' heat,<br/>
Or it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-a-mpin'<br/>
through mud and slush 'n sleet;<br/>
It's tramp an' tramp for tucker — one everlastin' strife,<br/>
An' wearin' out yer boots an' heart in the wastin' of yer life.</i><br/>
<br/>
They whine o' lost an' wasted lives in idleness and crime —<br/>
I've wasted mine for twenty years, and grafted all the time<br/>
And never drunk the stuff I earned, nor gambled when I shore —<br/>
But somehow when yer on the track yer life seems wasted more.<br/>
<br/>
A long dry stretch of thirty miles I've tramped this broilin' day,<br/>
All for the off-chance of a job a hundred miles away;<br/>
There's twenty hungry beggars wild for any job this year,<br/>
An' fifty might be at the shed while I am lyin' here.<br/>
<br/>
The sinews in my legs seem drawn, red-hot — 'n that's the truth;<br/>
I seem to weigh a ton, and ache like one tremendous tooth;<br/>
I'm stung between my shoulder-blades — my blessed back seems broke;<br/>
I'm too knocked out to eat a bite — I'm too knocked up to smoke.<br/>
<br/>
The blessed rain is comin' too — there's oceans in the sky,<br/>
An' I suppose I must get up and rig the blessed fly;<br/>
The heat is bad, the water's bad, the flies a crimson curse,<br/>
The grub is bad, mosquitoes damned — but rheumatism's worse.<br/>
<br/>
I wonder why poor blokes like me will stick so fast ter breath,<br/>
Though Shakespeare says it is the fear of somethin' after death;<br/>
But though Eternity be cursed with God's almighty curse —<br/>
What ever that same somethin' is I swear it can't be worse.<br/>
<br/>
<i>For it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin' thro' hell across the plain,<br/>
And it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-mpin' thro' slush 'n mud 'n rain —<br/>
A livin' worse than any dog — without a home 'n wife,<br/>
A-wearin' out yer heart 'n soul in the wastin' of yer life.</i><br/></p>
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