Now look, y’ see, it’s this way like,
Y’ cross the broke bridge
And run the crick till y’ strike
The second right-hand ridge.
The track is hard to see in parts,
But still it’s pretty clear;
There’s been two Injin hawkers’ carts
Along that road this year.
Well, run that right-hand ridge along,
It ain’t, to say, too steep.
There’s two fresh tracks might put y’ wrong
Where blokes went out with sleep.
But keep the crick upon your right,
And follow pretty straight
Along the spur, until y’ sight
A wire and sapling gate.
Well, well that’s where Hogan’s old grey mare
Fell off and broke her back;
You’ll see her carcase layin’ there,
Jist down below the track.
And then you drop two mile, or three,
It’s pretty steep and blind;
You want to go and fall a tree
And tie it on behind.
And then you’ll pass a broken cart
Below a granite bluff;
And that is where you strike the part
They reckon pretty rough.
But by the time you’ve got that far
It’s either cure or kill,
So turn your horses round the spur
And face ‘em up the hill.
For, look, if you should miss the slope
And get below the track,
You haven’t got the whitest hope
Of ever gettin’ back.
An’ halfway up you’ll see the hide
Of Hogan’s brindled bull;
Well, mind and keep the right-hand side,
The left’s too steep a pull.
And both the banks is full of cracks;
An’ just about at dark
You’ll see the last year’s bullock tracks
Where Hogan drew the bark.
The marks is old and pretty faint
And grown with scrup and such;
Of course the track to Hogan’s ain’t
A road that’s travelled much.
But turn and run the tracks along
For half a mile or more,
And then, of course, you can’t go wrong -
You’re right at Hogan’s door.
When first you come to Hogan’s gate
He mightn’t show, perhaps;
He’s pretty sure to plant and wait
To see it ain’t the traps.
I wouldn’t call it good enough
To let your horses out;
There’s some that’s pretty extra rough
Is livin’ round about.
It’s likely if your horses did
Get feedin’ near the track,
It’s goin’ to cost at least a quid
Or more to get them back.
So, if you find they’re off the place,
It’s up to you to go
And flash a quid in Hogan’s face -
He’ll know the blokes that know.
But, listen, if you’re feelin’ dry,
Just see there’s no one near,
And go and wink the other eye
And ask for ginger beer.
The blokes come in from near and far
To sample Hogan’s pop;
They reckon once they breast the bar
They stay there till they drop.
On Sundays you can see them spread
Like flies around the tap.
It’s like that song "The Livin’Dead"
Up there at Hogans Gap.
They like to make it pretty strong
Whenever there’s a charnce;
So when a stranger comes along
They always holds a darnce.
There’s recitations, songs, and fights,
They do the thing a treat.
There’s one long bloke up there recites
As well as e'er you’d meet.
They’ve lively blokes all right up there,
It’s never dull a day.
I’d go meself if I could spare
The time to get away.
The stranger turned his horses, quick,
He didn’t cross the bridge.
He didn’t go along the crick
To strike the second ridge.
He didn’t make the trip, because
He wasn’t feeling fit.
His business up at Hogan’s was
To serve him with a writ.
He reckoned if he faced the pull
And climbed the rocky stair,
The next to come might find his hide
A landmark on the mountain side,
Along with Hogan’s brindled bull
And Hogan’s old grey mare!
