Saltbush Bill, J. P.

Bottle-O!

  I ain't the kind of bloke as takes to any steady job;
   I drives me bottle cart around the town;
  A bloke what keeps 'is eyes about can always make a bob—
   I couldn't bear to graft for every brown.
  There's lots of handy things about in everybody's yard,
   There's cocks and hens a-runnin' to an' fro,
  And little dogs what comes and barks—we take 'em off their guard
   And we puts 'em with the Empty Bottle-O!

              Chorus—

      So it's any “Empty bottles!  Any empty bottle-O!”
       You can hear us round for a half a mile or so.
       And you'll see the women rushing
       To take in the Monday's washing
      When they 'ear us crying, “Empty Bottle-O!”

  I'm drivin' down by Wexford-street and up a winder goes,
   A girl sticks out 'er 'ead and looks at me,
  An all-right tart with ginger 'air, and freckles on 'er nose;
   I stops the cart and walks across to see.
  “There ain't no bottles 'ere,” says she, “since father took the pledge;”
    “No bottles 'ere,” says I, “I'd like to know
  What right you 'ave to stick your 'ead outside the winder ledge,
   If you 'aven't got no Empty Bottle-O!”

  I sometimes gives the 'orse a spell, and then the push and me
   We takes a little trip to Chowder Bay.
  Oh! ain't it nice the 'ole day long a-gazin' at the sea
   And a-hidin' of the tanglefoot away.
  But when the booze gits 'old of us, and fellows starts to “scrap”,
   There's some what likes blue-metal for to throw:
  But as for me, I always says for layin' out a “trap”
    There's nothin' like an Empty Bottle-O!