Shearing In The Bar chords by Ted Egan

SimplifiedGm · F#m · G

GuitarPianoUkulele

Verse 1
Gm 
Shearing's a bloody hard job.
F#m 
A thirsty job too.
Gm 
And the legends tell us
that shearers spend and
drink as hard as they work.
G 
Gm 
It's not surprising that shearing in the bar
has become one of Australia's
Gm 
national pastimes.
Hey Barney, how about it mate?
I'm shearing in the bar.
G 
Gm 
My shearing  days are over,
G 
and though I never was a gun,
I could always count my twenty
at the end of every run.
Gm 
I used the old trade union shears,
and the blades were running full,
as I shoved them to the knockers
and I pushed away the wool.
G 
Gm 
I shore at Gaurianua and never got the sack,
and from breezer out to Comprador
G 
Gm 
I always could go back.
And though I am a truthful man,
G 
I find, when in a bar,
Gm 
that my tallies always double,
and I never call for tar.
G 
Now shearing on the western
plains
where the feast is full of sand,
and clover burr and corkscrew
grass
is the place to try your hand,
for the sheep are tough and wiry,
where they feed on the Mitchell grass,
and every second one of them
is close to cobbler class,
and a pen -chot full of cobblers
is a shearer's dream of hell,
and loud and lurid are the words
Gm 
when they get one on the bell,
but when we're Pourin' down the grog,
G 
Gm 
G 
you'll hear no call for tar.
Gm 
G 
No, the shearin' never cuts him
when he's shearin' in the bar.
Gm 
And Nelf, I got the bell -sheep,
G 
a tough -wooled wrinkly brute,
Who never stopped his kickin'
till I tossed him down the chute.
And though my wrist was achin' badly,
I fought him all the way.
I couldn't afford to miss a blow,
Gm 
I must earn my pound a day.
G 
Gm 
So when I took a strip of skin,
G 
I would hide it with my knee,
Gm 
And gently turn the sheep around,
G 
Gm 
so the right bower wouldn't see.
Then try to catch the Rousey's eye,
G 
Gm 
and softly whisper,
G 
But it never seems to happen
Gm 
when you're shearing in
G 
the garden.
I shore away the belly wool
and trimmed the crutch and hocks
and opened up along the neck
while the Ralseys swept the locks,
Gm 
G 
then swung the sheep as smartly round
and dumped him on his rear,
Gm 
G 
two blows to chip away the wig.
I also took an ear
and down around the shoulder
and the blades were open wide
Gm 
as I drove him on the long blow
G 
and down the whipping side
and when I tossed him
down the chute
Gm 
he was nearly black with tar
G 
Gm 
but it never seems to happen
G 
Gm 
when you're shearing in a bar
G 
Gm 
Now, when the season's over,
and my grandsons all come back,
G 
in their vanguards and their holdens,
I, I was always on the track.
They come and take me into town
Gm 
G 
to fill me up with beer,
Gm 
and I sit up on a corner stool,
and I listen to them cheer.
G 
Gm 
There's not a spot of difference,
G 
it must make the angels weep
To hear a mob of shearers
in a barroom shearin' sheep
Gm 
G 
Gm 
The sheep go rattling down the race
G 
and there's never a  call for tar
No, they still don't seem to cut them
when they're shearing in the bar
Gm 
G 
Gm 
The memories come crowding
G 
and they roll away the years
Gm 
And my hand begins to tighten
and I seem to feel the shears
I want to speak of sheds
of sheds where I have shorn
Full fifty years ago
Gm 
or maybe more before the boys were born
Gm 
I want to speak of Yarra Green,
G 
Dunlop and Wingardy,
But the beer has started working
Gm 
and I find I   cannot see.
Gm 
So I'd better not start cheering,
I'd be bound to call for tar
and be treated like a blackleg
when I'm sharing in a bar.