Oh, he led his love through the church's aisle,
And be cried 'You bet!' with an eight horse smile.
When, the parson asked would he love and care
For the dainty thing with the forehead fair,
And the dimpled chin and the sun kissed locks,
O he yelled again, 'You may bet yer socks.'

For a rough-cut sleeper was Mulga Jim,
With never the sign of a fly on him.
Then he signed the book and be seized his prize,
With a joyful gleam in his big brown eyes.
As they jumped aboard of the north bound traín,
Oh, he gathered his girl, to his chest again.
And the days went by with a new-born vim
At the wayback mansion of Mulga Jim.

And the stars loomed bright and the sky loomed clear
Till nearing the end of the first half-year.
Then one fateful morning dressed neat and trim
A woman tripped out from the camp of Jim.
As laughing and smiling, 'I wish you joy,'
She said, 'You're the dad of a bouncing boy.'
Then Mulga Jim studied and scratched his head,
' Well, that I guess is a record,' he said.
'A plume in the cap of a way-back bloke -
The first damn record that ever I broke.'

Then he cut no caper nor went off 'pop,'
But closed the shutters of 'Cupid's' shop.
And be coiled his swag and he greased his straps
And said 'Good-bye' to the mulga chaps.
Then as fast and far from the scene he hied,
Who'd a' guessed it was loaded?' he sadly sighed.

More verses by John Philip Bourke