It's lonesome away from your kindred and all By the camp fire at night where the wild dingoes call, But there's nothing so lonesome so dull or so drear Than to stand in a bar of a pub with no beer.
Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come There's a far away look on the face of the bum The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer What a terrible place is a pub with no beer.
The stock-man rides up with his dry dusty throat He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wat from his coat, But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer, When the bar man says sadly the pub's got no beer.
Ther'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.
Ol' 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 tells her the pub's got no beer
Oh it's lonesome away from your kindred and all By the camp fire at night where the wild dingoes call, But there's nothing so lonesome so dull or so drear That's a stand in a bar of a pub with no beer.