The Old Survey

Our moneys all spent, to the deuce went it!         The landlord, he looks glum,     On the tap-room wall, in a very bad scrawl,         He has chalked to us a sum.     But a glass well take, ere the grey dawn break,         And then saddle up and away     Theodolite-tum, theodolite-ti, theodolite-too-ral-ay.     With a measured beat fall our horses feet,         Galloping side by side;     When the moneys done, and weve had our fun,         We all are bound to ride.     Oer the far-off plain well drag the chain,         And mark the settlers way     Theodolite-tum, theodolite-ti, theodolite-too-ral-ay.     Well range from the creeks to the mountain peaks,         And traverse far below;     Where foot never trod, well mark with a rod         The limits of endless snow;     Each lofty crag well plant with a flag,         To flash in the suns bright ray     Theodolite-tum, theodolite-ti, theodolite-too-ral-ay.     Till with cash hard-earned once more returned,         At The Beaver bars well shout;     And the very bad scrawl thats against the wall         Ourselves shall see wiped out.     Such were the ways in the good old days!         The days of the old survey!     Theodolite-tum, theodolite-ti, theodolite-too-ral-ay.