Oh, there's some that breeds the Devon that's as solid as a stone,
And there's some that breeds the brindle which they call the “Goulburn Roan”;
But amongst the breeds of cattle there are very, very few
Like the hairy-whiskered bullock that they bred at Gundaroo.

Far away by Grabben Gullen, where the Murrumbidgee flows,
There's a block of broken countryside where no one ever goes;
For the banks have gripped the squatters, and the free selectors too,
And their stock are always stolen by the men of Gundaroo.

There came a low informer to the Grabben Gullen side,
And he said to Smith the squatter, “You must saddle up and ride,
For your bullock's in the harness-cask of Morgan Donahoo—
He's the greatest cattle-stealer that abides in Gundaroo.”

“Oh, ho!” said Smith, the owner of the Grabben Gullen run,
“I'll go and get the troopers by the sinking of the sun,
And down into his homestead to-night we'll take a ride,
With warrants to identify the carcase and the hide.”

That night rode down the troopers, the squatter at their head,
They rode into the homestead, and pulled Morgan out of bed.
“Now, show to us the carcase of the bullock that you slew—
The great marsupial bullock that you killed in Gundaroo.”

They peered into the harness-cask, and found it wasn't full,
But down among the brine they saw some flesh and bits of wool.
“What's this?” exclaimed the trooper—“an infant, I declare;”
Said Morgan, “'Tis the carcase of an old man native bear.
I heard that ye were coming, so an old man bear I slew,
Just to give you kindly welcome to my home in Gundaroo.

“The times is something awful, as you can plainly see,
The banks have broke the squatters, and they've broke the likes of me;
We can't afford a bullock—such expense would never do—
So an old man bear for breakfast is a treat in Gundaroo.”

And along by Grabben Gullen, where the rushing river flows,
In the block of broken country where there's no one ever goes,
On the Upper Murrumbidgee they're a hospitable crew,
But you mustn't ask for “bullock” when you go to Gundaroo.