Badger, My Gray [song, 13 October 1894]

[Editor: A song published in The Queenslander, 13 October 1894.]

Badger, My Gray.

(Supplied by R.C.L., Forest Vale.)

The coachman may boast of the speed of his mail,
The conductor may talk of his steam and his rail,
But for travelling long journeys on day after day
O’er Australia’s rough roads give me Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, Badger, my gray;
O’er Australia’s rough roads give me Badger, my gray.

At dawn in the morning he’s round at my door;
He’s just fifteen hands, may be half-an-inch more.
With my swag strapped before me no longer I stay,
But throw my leg over him, Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, &c.

We jog o’er the hills and we canter the plains
Till glorious Sol the meridian attains,
When a white cottage inn appears just in my way,
And I stop for an hour to bait Badger, my gray,

Badger, my gray, &c.

He snorts, drinks his water, and eats up his maize,
Pricks his ears and says, “Master, we’ll start if ye plaze.”
I quaff up my ale, then proceed on my way,
Now smoking, now singing to Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, &c.

Twenty miles more are over by evening’s close,
When again does the hostel invite to repose;
I give him to the ostler, then order my tray,
Then round to look after him, Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, &c.

His feet and legs washed, himself dry as a bone,
Bedded up to his belly, best leave him alone;
He’s drunk up his water, his rack’s filled with hay,
And he’s eating his maize up is Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, &c.

With my cold round of beef, or my chicken and ham,
With my feet o’er the fender how cozy I am;
Pipe in mouth I con over the events of the day,
Nor bother my head about Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, &c.

I turn in at nine, and sleep soundly till morn,
When awoke by the shrill blast of chanticleer’s horn,
Quickly dressing I hie to the stable away
To see him again fed, Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, &c.

Breakfast over, once more Badger’s brought to the door,
And again forty miles are performed as before,
And thus at long journey’s work, day after day,
Fresh, hearty, and game is Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, &c.

Then talk not to me of your big half-bred hack,
He’s all very well without me on his back;
Your clumsy coach stallion, your big Cleveland bay
He’d kill in a week, would Badger, my gray.

Badger, my gray, &c.

For Badger can boast of a pedigree good,
His sire joined Steeltrap’s to Camerton’s blood,
His grandam pure Arab; so now need I say
Why he’s good for a journey is Badger, my gray?

Badger, my gray, Badger, my gray,
Why he’s good for a journey is Badger, my gray.

J.T.L.

Source:
The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld.), 13 October 1894, page 692