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
Then the stock-man rides up with his dry dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar a wad from his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman said sadly: 'The Pub's got no beer'
There's a dog on the veranda for his master he waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and cringes in fear
It's no place for a dog round a pub with no beer
Old Billy the blacksmith first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen she says 'You're early my dear'
But he breaks down and tells her 'The pub's got no beer'
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
(c) Parsons