Chorus:
Well it's lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the camp fire at night,
Where the wild dingos call.
But there's nothin' so lonesome
morbid or drear,
than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer.
Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come
and there's a far away look on the face of the bum
the maids got all cranky and
and the cooks acting queer
what a terrible place, is a pub with no beer.
The stockman rides up with his dry, dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman says suddenly: "The pub's got no beer!"
There's a dog on the verandah, for his master he waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and he cringes in fear
It's no place for a dog round a pub with no beer
Then in comes the swagman, all covered with flies
He throws down his roll, wipes the sweat from his eyes
But when he is told he says, "What's this I hear?
I've trudged fifty flamin' miles to a pub with no beer!"
Old Billy, the blacksmith, the first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen; she says: "You're early, me dear"
Then he breaks down and he tells her that the pub's got no beer
It's lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call
But there's nothin' so lonesome, so dull or so drear
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer
