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Scrubbing the minor's clothes

Scrubbing the minor's clothers

All piled up in a ghastly stack

Heavy as lead and smell and black

And oh the pain in my aching back

Scrubbing the minor's clothes

VERSE 1

I come from Durham in ’99,
Married a laddie from the Coal Creek mine,
The finest lad that a girl could ever know,
Till he brought me his washing from the pit below.

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VERSE 2

Now your Korumburra miner is a grimy sort of bloke,
So I drop in his duds for an all night soak.
I’ll take me a soap and I’ll grate it like a cheese,
And chuck it in a bucket with his grubby dungarees.

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VERSE 3

I get me up before the peep o’ light
My copper for to fill and my fire for to light,
I’ll serve Tom his crib while the copper’s on the boil,
Then gird up my muscles for a day’s hard toil.

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VERSE 4

It’s drag ’em from the copper to the rinsing tub,
Pound ’em with the dolly and scrub, scrub, scrub,
Pour away the mucky water, do it all again,
Heave ’em through the wringer and pray it doesn’t rain.

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VERSE 5

Beyond Kardella, the sky’s looking fine,
Basket up the washing to the old clothes line,
I’ll bet when it’s hung out and I’ve heaved up the prop,
The rain’ll come a pourin’ and the wind will drop.

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VERSE 6

Now all you maids who to marriage do incline,
Never wed a laddie from the Coal Creek mine,
A squatter might be surly, a merchant might be mean,
A banker might be boring, but they’re easier to clean

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