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Rh When you test the strength that's in you, oh, it's good to be alive In the green bush, the clean bush, an' with your fellows strive … There's Simon, of the sniggin' gang, in trouble with his log, An' he slews her with a cant-hook as she wallows in a bog. But it's: Hey, boys! Steady, boys! Haul away the slack! An' the shackled giant's snakin' down the deeply-furrowed track. Now the boss he swears to heaven that the timber's all bewitched, An' Simon toils like seven men to get the tackle hitched. An' it's: Ho, boys! Right away! Slew her at the nose! An' the old winch coughs an' clatters every time the whistle blows.

The crowded world' may call at times, but here I'd rather be. With the strong men, the brown men, who work along with me; With the good tan on their faces an' the clear look in their eyes That come to men who ply their trade beneath the open skies: The rough men. The straight men. With coarse words on the tongue, An' hearts that work can never break an' minds that must keep young.