There's something neat in a cabbage-tree hat,
When it fits the wearer's crown;
There's in it a sort of jaunty look,
With its streamers hanging down.
Let others boast of the felt or brab,
I cannot with them agree,
For nobody looks so like a swell,
As a man with a cabbage-tree.
Go where you will round Lambing Flat,
Every digger wears his cabbage-tree hat,
Go where you will, now think of that,
You're right it you've got a cabbage-tree hat.
Let the roughs and the muffs talk as they will
Of the rowdy cabbage-tree mob;
It's no paltry tile that costs a pound,
And adjust to adorn your nob.
Roam as you will round Sydney town,
The lasses will all agree,
You're just the man to escort them out,
If you've got on a good cabbage-tree.
It's been worn by men of every clime,
Though Australians bear the sway;
Though used at the present day.
No matter what caste, or class, or creed,
Whether rich or poor they be;
They'll never want a friend in need,
If they've got a good cabbage-tree.
The rich look down on the poor man's coat,
If but seedy it appear;
But a cabbage-tree hat is a different thing,
For it's free from a wealthy sneer,
New chums will wear it to ape old hands,
And get bush logic pat;
Yet, where would they be twixt you and me,
If minus the cabbage-tree hat.