Part 8

So Mrs. Gilhooley says, “Jones, my dear man, My childer have little to ait: Just keep the expenses as low as you can Against poor Gilhooley's Estate.”

But Jones says, “The will isn't clear in its terms, I fear it will need some debate, And the law won't allow me (attorneys are worms) To appear in Gilhooley's Estate.”

So a barrister-man, with a wig on his head, And a brief in his hand quite elate, Went up to the Court where they bury the dead, Just to move in Gilhooley's Estate.

But his Honor the Judge said, “I think that the joint Legatees must be called to probate-- Ex parte Pokehorney is clear on the point-- The point of Gilhooley's Estate.

“I order a suit to be brought just to try If this is correct that I state-- A nice friendly suit, and the costs, by and by, Must be borne by Gilhooley's Estate.”

So Mrs. Gilhooley says, “Jones, you'll appear! Thim barristers' fees is too great; The suit is but friendly.” “Attorneys, my dear, Can't be heard in Gilhooley's Estate.”

From the Barristers' Court there's a mighty hurrah Arises both early and late: It's only the whoop of the Junior Bar Dividing Gilhooley's Estate.

The Road to Hogan's Gap

Now look, you see, it's this way like, You cross the broken bridge And run the crick down till you strike The second right-hand ridge.

The track is hard to see in parts, But still it's pretty clear; There's been two Injin hawkers' carts Along that road this year.

Well, run that right-hand ridge along-- It ain't, to say, too steep-- There's two fresh tracks might put you wrong Where blokes went out with sheep.

But keep the crick upon your right, And follow pretty straight Along the spur, until you sight A wire and sapling gate.

Well, that's where Hogan's old grey mare Fell off and broke her back; You'll see her carcase layin' there, Jist down below the track.

And then you drop two mile, or three, It's pretty steep and blind; You want to go and fall a tree And tie it on behind.

And then you pass a broken cart Below a granite bluff; And that is where you strike the part They reckon pretty rough.

But by the time you've got that far It's either cure or kill, So turn your horses round the spur And face 'em up the hill.

For look, if you should miss the slope And get below the track, You haven't got the whitest hope Of ever gettin' back.

An' half way up you'll see the hide Of Hogan's brindled bull; Well, mind and keep the right-hand side, The left's too steep a pull.

And both the banks is full of cracks; An' just about at dark You'll see the last year's bullock tracks Where Hogan drew the bark.

The marks is old and pretty faint And grown with scrub and such; Of course the track to Hogan's ain't A road that's travelled much.

But turn and run the tracks along For half a mile or more, And then, of course, you can't go wrong-- You're right at Hogan's door.

When first you come to Hogan's gate He mightn't show, perhaps; He's pretty sure to plant and wait To see it ain't the traps.

I wouldn't call it good enough To let your horses out; There's some that's pretty extra rough Is livin' round about.

It's likely if your horses did Get feedin' near the track, It's goin' to cost at least a quid Or more to get them back.

So, if you find they're off the place, It's up to you to go And flash a quid in Hogan's face-- He'll know the blokes that know.

But listen, if you're feelin' dry, Just see there's no one near, And go and wink the other eye And ask for ginger beer.

The blokes come in from near and far To sample Hogan's pop; They reckon once they breast the bar They stay there till they drop.

On Sundays you can see them spread Like flies around the tap. It's like that song “The Livin' Dead” Up there at Hogan's Gap.