The Singing Garden

The Indian Myna

C.J. Dennis

GIMME the town an’ its clamour an’ clutter;
    I ain’t very fond of the bush;
For my cobbers are coves of the gardens and gutter—
    A tough metropolitan push.
I ain’t never too keen on the countryfied life;
It’s the hustle an’ bustle for me an’ me wife.

So I swagger an’ strut an’ I cuss an’ I swagger;
    I’m wise to the city’s hard way.
A bit of a bloke an’ a bit of a bragger;
    I’ve always got plenty to say.
Learned thro’ knockin’ about since my people came out
From the land at the back of Bombay.

When out in the bush I am never a ranger;
    There never ain’t nothin’ to see.
Besides, them bush birds got no time for a stranger;
    So town an’ the traffic for me.
I sleep in the gardens an’ loaf in the street,
An’ sling off all day at the fellers I meet.

An’ I swagger an’ scold an’ strut an’ I swagger,
    An’ pick up me fun where I can,
Or tell off me wife, who’s a bit of a nagger,
    Or scrap with the sparrers for scran.
A bonzer at bluffin’, I give you my word,
For, between you an’ me, I’m a pretty tough bird.

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