It's lonesome away from your kindred and all 
By the camp fire at night where the wild dingoes call 
But there's nothing so lonesome so dull or so drear 
Than to stand in a bar of a pub with no beer 

Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come 
There's a far away look on the face of the bum 
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer 
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer 

Then the stock-man rides up with his dry dusty throat 
He breasts up to the bar a wad from his coat 
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer 
When the barman said sadly: 'The Pub's got no beer' 

There's a dog on the veranda for his master he waits 
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates 
He hurries for cover and cringes in fear 
It's no place for a dog round a pub with no beer 

Old Billy the blacksmith first time in his life 
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife 
He walks in the kitchen she says 'You're early my dear' 
But he breaks down and tells her 'The pub's got no beer' 

It's lonesome away from your kindred and all 
By the camp fire at night where the wild dingoes call 
But there's nothing so lonesome so dull or so drear 
Than to stand in a bar of a pub with no beer


(c) Parsons