trad
Bert Lloyd wrote in 1956: “Old Dad Adams of Cowra, New South Wales, used to sing this song. Rumour had it the pubs didn’t stock anything strong enough for Old Dad. It was said he would bore a hole in the bottom of a silo and suck out the fermented juice of the ensilage through a straw. To one expressing disbelief, the answer was: “All right, look for yourself. All the silos around Cowra have got little holes bored in ’em.” Anyway, Old Dad didn’t make the song. Perhaps it was made by the Speewa sleeper-cutter, who went into a chemist’s and called for prussic acid with a vitriol chaser, adding: “And don’t go dilutin’ it with that ammonia, neither.” The tune is just another variant of the tried-and-trusted Dinah and her Villikins (without the refrain and softened out and syncopated a bit) which tune has probably been used for more texts than any other in the English-speaking world”
Spiers & Boden: https://spiersboden.bandcamp.com/track/bluey-brink
https://spiersboden.bandcamp.com/track/bluey-brink
There once was a shearer, by name Bluey Brink, He’s a devil for work, he’s a devil for drink. He could shear a five hundred each day without fear, He could drink without flinching twelve gallons of beer. Now Jimmy, the barman, who served out the drink, How he hated the sight of this here Bluey Brink. ‘Cause he stayed much too late and he come much too soon; At morning, at evening, at night time and noon. So one morning when Jimmy was cleaning the bar With sulphuric acid that he kept in a jar, Along come the shearer a-bawling with thirst, Saying, “Whatever you got, Jim, just hand me the first.” Now, it ain’t put in history, nor it ain’t put in print, But Old Bluey drunk acid with never a wink, Saying, “That’s the stuff, Jimmy, Christ, strike me stone dead. This’ll make me the ringer of Stevenson’s shed.” But the rest of the day as he served out the beer, The barman he was trembling with worry and fear. Too nervous to argue, too anxious to fight, Thinking that shearer a corpse in his fright. But next morning when Jimmy he opened the door, Well, along come that shearer a-bawling for more; With his eyebrows all singed and his whiskers deranged And holes in his hide like a dog with the mange. Says Jimmy, “And how did you find the new stuff?” Oh, says Bluey, “It’s fine but I’ve not had enough. Though it sets me to coughing and you know I’m no liar, But every cough sets my whiskers on fire.”