Try this: Out on the board the old shearer stands Grasping his shears in his long bony hands Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied "joe" Glory if he gets her, won't he make the ringer go Chorus Click go the shears boys, click, click, click Wide is his blow and his hands move quick The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow And curses the old snagger with the blue-bellied "joe" In the middle of the floor in his cane-bottomed chair Is the boss of the board, with eyes everywhere Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen Paying strict attention if it's taken off clean The colonial-experience man he is there, of course With his shiny leggin's just got off his horse Casting round his eye like a real connoisseur Whistling the old tune "I'm the Perfect Lure" The tar-boy is there awaiting in demand With his blackened tar-pot and his tarry hand Sees one old sheep with a cut upon its back Here's what he's waiting for "Tar here Jack!" Shearing is all over and we've all got our cheques Roll up your swag for we're off on the tracks The first pub we come to it's there we'll have a spree And everyone that comes along it's, "Come and drink with me!" Down by the bar the old shearer stands Grasping his glass in his thin bony hands Fixed is his gaze on a green-painted keg Glory he'll get down on it ere he stirs a peg There we leave him standing, shouting for all hands Whilst all around him every shouter stands His eyes are on the cask which is now lowering fast He works hard he drinks hard and goes to hell at last You take off the belly-wool clean out the crutch Go up the neck for the rules they are such You clean round the horns first shoulder go down One blow up the back and you then turn around Click, click, that's how the shears go Click, click, so awfully quick You pull out a sheep he'll give a kick And still hear your shears going click, click, click