By the campfire at night where the wild dingoes call

But there’s nothing so morbid or lonesome or drear

As to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer

Then the stockman rides up with his dry dusty throat

He goes up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat

But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer

When the barman says sadly, the pub’s got no beer

The swaggie comes in smothered in dust and flies

He throws down his roll, rubs the sweat from his eyes

But when he is told, he says, What’s this I hear?

I’ve trudged fifty miles to a pub with no beer!

There’s a dog on the veranda, for his master he waits

But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates

He hurries for cover, and he cringes in fear

It’s no place for a dog, round a pub with no beer

Old Billy the blacksmith, the first time in his life

Has gone home cold sober to his loving wife

He walks in the kitchen, she says, You’re early, my dear

Then he breaks down and tells her the pub’s got no beer