Explore "Corny Bill" by Henry Lawson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth, His hat pushed from his brow, His dress best fitted for the South -- I think I see him now; And when the city streets are still, And sleep upon me comes, I often dream that me an' Bill Are humpin' of our drums.
I mind the time when first I came A stranger to the land; And I was stumped, an' sick, an' lame When Bill took me in hand. Old Bill was what a chap would call A friend in poverty, And he was very kind to all, And very good to me.