One hundred years ago or more,
A bloke named Bad Brown Bill.
Ranged the bush from Binnaway,
And Burke to Castle Hill.
Gruff and tough, rude and shrewd,
A scoundrel to the core.
He plundered stole, he robbed and thieved,
And still went out for more.
A mare named Mudpie was his mount,
An old but nimble nag.
As hard as nails, as bold as brass,
But something of a wag.
They bailed up every bank and pub,
From Broome to Cooper's Creek.
And bundled up the Mudgee mail,
Not once but every week.
Tthey boldly stole the Queensland Mint,
Just took it right or wrong.
Then down the eastern coast they sailed,
And stuck up Wollongong.
One day they caught the Governor,
They took his splendid hat.
They made him dance a jig on it,
Until he squashed it flat.
When now and then the mounted troups,
Rode out to track them down.
Brown Bill would yell, and whoop and cheer,
And chase them back to town.
Our hero was quite sure he was,
The bravest of the brave.
He bragged so much he nearly drove,
Poor Mudpie to her grave.
In desperation Mudpie,
Found power of speach and said.
You brag, but are you bold enough,
To rob the ghostly dead.
This struck and stunned,
And sorely stung Brown Bill's enormous pride.
He flew into a crimson rage,
"My oath I am" he cried.
He knelt upon the stony ground,
And bowed his fat brown head.
He slowly swore and awful oath,
And solemnly he said...
Right there and then he galloped off,
To find himself a ghost.
And that same night he saw a sight,
That turned his teeth to toast.
He's come across a hideous ghoul,
Astride a rotten log.
It grinned a slimy, slippery grin,
And breathed a damp green fog.
Brown Bill stood fast beside his oath,
Fair dinkum and true blue.
He'd bounded himself to rob this fiend,
This dread pale Jackaroo.
He bit his tongue and grit his teeth,
And yelled courageously.
"You'll stand and you'll deliver, sir",
"Your wealth belongs to me".
And with a whine and hiss it spoke,
"Brown Bill, you've caught me fair".
"So come up to my camp with me,
My treasure's hidden there".
And like a flash, the ghost was off,
Away into the night.
Brown Bill stood still,
Upon his horse.
Three quarters dead from fright.
He hummed a hymn, and shook himslef,
And rode in hot persuit.
Until he reached the Billabong,
Maloderous and mute.
Gross and gruesome monster ghosts,
Loathesome and befowled.
Begrimed beslimed and horrible,
They howled and scowled and growled.
They lumbered out and heaved about,
A moaning growning throng.
With dead and tuneless tongues they sang,
A monster welcome song.
"G'day and welcome Bad Brown Bill,
Where's your smile? You're looking ill.
We've got a nice surprise for you,
We thought we'd make Bush Ranger Stew".
"We'll chop and break, we'll bend and squeeze,
We'll mince your nose, and grind your knees.
We'll boil your bones in merry Hell,
We'll eat you up, your horse as well".
Brown Bill and Mudpie stood like stone,
Their faces long and grey.
Their arteries were full of lead,
Their bones where turned to clay.
Then something like a rusty spring,
Gave way in Brown Bill's head.
He ate his boots, and kicked his horse,
And like a gale they fled.
They wandered in the wilderness,
For forty days or so.
Brown Bill just shook his head and moaned,
And wallowed in his woe.
So Mudpie said her second line,
The last she ever spoke.
"You've had your day as 'Bad Brown Bill',
You're now a better bloke.
They bought a school house, by and by,
Where bush rangers were told.
The story of the oath he made,
And every heart turned cold.
Yes, everyone who heard the tale,
Went grey and shook with dread.
And swore they'd change their wicked ways,
And settle down instead.
So that's the reason why they say,
From Perth to Kimberley.
There's not a single bush ranger,
That's left alive to see.
But...Sometimes in the dead of night,
Perhaps you'll see them still.
The ghostly shapes of Mudpie,
And a bloke named Bad Brown Bill.