A Sydney lad, he went out West,
To work in the shearing game.
He thought he’d show the bushies how,
And earn great wealth and fame.
He knew quite well he’d be a star,
What else could one expect.
For they were simple country hicks,
And he was fresh from Tech.

He got a job with Grazcos,
They sent him to a shed.
He strode up Monday morning,
Prepared to knock ’em dead.
He made one gun quite snarly,
When he sneered and said, ‘By heck,
You’ve got this hand piece loaded wrong,
Not like we did at Tech.’

They put him on the table,
He was far too flaming slow,
He skirted wool the college way,
And didn’t stand a show.
So they tried him out at picking up,
He made each fleece a wreck.
He wouldn’t try the local way,
It wasn’t taught at Tech.

Well, the presser was a bit behind,
And the Sydney lad was sent,
To help him catch the shearers up,
So ’round our hero went.
He pressed the pins and the presser roared,
‘I’ll break your stupid neck,
If you ever touch my press again
You presser from the Tech!’

They tried him out at every job
But all to no avail,
With his college way of doing things,
Most dismally he’d fail,
Until at last the boss strolled up
And handed him his cheque.
‘You can go and roll your swag,’ he said,
‘Like they taught you to – at Tech!’