THREE DAYS TO WASH YOUR CLOTHESAnother night of the depression,High wind and pea sized hail, A swaggie in an empty shed, By the track for the Sunshine Mail! If he has to jump the rattler, He must before it stops, And pray to God he won't be pinched, By the one armed railway cop. They called the copper Wingy, With one arm he was cursed, Those who jump the rattler, Reckon he's by far the worst. Many a battling swagman, Behind the goods van gate, Hoped to Christ they didn't hear, “Any room there with you mate?” He worked around near Gympie, Some thought well beyond the pale, He'd arrest downtrodden swaggies, That jumped the Sunshine Mail. The swaggie in the empty shed, Was there without a choice, The times had taken everything, He didn't even have a voice. To be in this predicament, Is not something that he chose? His possessions in the canvas swag, What he's wearing are his clothes. He'll wait until the Mail slows down, At this spot it doesn't stop, Try to board on the other side, For he feared the one armed cop. The goods van door was slight ajar, Others in there, one or two, A voice says, “You're arrested, mate!” 'There's a handcuff here for you!” Sure enough, it's Wingy, In his most arresting pose, Pay the fine or otherwise, It's three days to wash your clothes. |
