It's lonesome away, from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night, where the wild dingoes call
But there's nothing so lonesome, so morbid or drear
Than to stand in a bar, of a pub with no beer
Now the publicans anxious, for the quota to come
There's a faraway look, on the face of the bum
The maids gone all cranky , and the cooks acting queer
What a terrible place, is a pub with no beer
Then the stockman rides up, with his dry dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat
But the smile on has face, quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman said sadly, the pubs got no beer
There's a dog on the v'randah, for his master he waits
But the boss is inside, drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover, and cringes with fear
Its 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 your early my dear
But he breaks down and tells her, the pubs got no beer