Railway Chi-yikes

Bell’s Life in Sydney and Sporting Reviewer Saturday 14 July 1849

Written expressly for Tim Donohue's Swarry.
(AIR,--'What's that to any one, whether or no?')

Hurrah! for a Tramroad, Hurrah! for a Rail,
Hurrah! for a tearaway journey by steam,
Hurrah! for a horse with a train at his tail,
Hurrah! for an engine's puff, rumble, and scream.

Hurrah! for the gents, in committee so canny,
Who chalk out our road to Wealth's fountain so plain.
Hurrah! for the puffers who spin us so many
Tough yarns about profits we're 'certain to gain.'

Hurrah! for the jokers who swallow the bait
And risk breaking their shins to deposit the 'tin.'
Hurrah! for the time those said jokers must wait,
Before 'twenty percent' on their shares tumbles in.

Hurrah! for the nob-working lawyers and swells,
Who'll dredge up the oysters--if they're to be had.
Hurrah! for our share of--'the what?'--why, the shells!
If you thought I'd say fish, you are certainly mad.

Hurrah! for those meetings that force us to quit,
Our dull homely duties, and march out like nobs.
Hurrah! for the spouters who mouth it a bit:
Whether councillors, lawyers, clerks, humbugs, or snobs.

Hurrah! for the Camdenites, backed by the Macs,
When a tunnel through Razorback mountain they bore.
Hurrah! for the Picts--who, of course will 'go snacks'--
When the traffic of Sydney comes bang to each door.

Hurrah! for the Berrimites turning their 'cage '
To a terminus--aptly, 'twas one not long past.
Hurrah! for the Goulburnites--late in a rage
For the Rail--when they sing out 'We've got it at last!'  

Hurrah! for the drivers of up and down mails,
When their whips cease to crack, and their coaches cease running.
Hurrah! for the workmen who'll lay down the rails,
Over which Squatters' wool bales shall bundle through Gunning.

Hurrah! for the Yassite who gives the first grin,
As the first train of trams through his township does pass;
And a dozen 'Hoo-raws,' with a little-un in,
For the stoker who stokes the first engine through Yass.

As for Gundagai, Albury, Ovens, the Port,
To bellow for each its due share of hurrahs,
Would put any Auctioneer's lungs to their forte.
And end, ten to one, in unhinging his jaws.