Try this:



Out on the board the old shearer stands 

Grasping his shears in his long bony hands 

Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied "joe" 

Glory if he gets her, won't he make the ringer go



Chorus 

Click go the shears boys, click, click, click

Wide is his blow and his hands move quick 

The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow

And curses the old snagger with the blue-bellied "joe"



In the middle of the floor in his cane-bottomed chair 

Is the boss of the board, with eyes everywhere 

Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen 

Paying strict attention if it's taken off clean



The colonial-experience man he is there, of course 

With his shiny leggin's just got off his horse 

Casting round his eye like a real connoisseur 

Whistling the old tune "I'm the Perfect Lure"



The tar-boy is there awaiting in demand 

With his blackened tar-pot and his tarry hand 

Sees one old sheep with a cut upon its back 

Here's what he's waiting for "Tar here Jack!"



Shearing is all over and we've all got our cheques 

Roll up your swag for we're off on the tracks 

The first pub we come to it's there we'll have a spree 

And everyone that comes along it's, "Come and drink with me!"



Down by the bar the old shearer stands 

Grasping his glass in his thin bony hands 

Fixed is his gaze on a green-painted keg 

Glory he'll get down on it ere he stirs a peg



There we leave him standing, shouting for all hands 

Whilst all around him every shouter stands 

His eyes are on the cask which is now lowering fast 

He works hard he drinks hard and goes to hell at last



You take off the belly-wool clean out the crutch 

Go up the neck for the rules they are such 

You clean round the horns first shoulder go down 

One blow up the back and you then turn around



Click, click, that's how the shears go 

Click, click, so awfully quick 

You pull out a sheep he'll give a kick

And still hear your shears going click, click, click