Slim Dusty Version

It's[G] lonesome away from your[Am] kindred and all
                                                                       
By the[D] camp fire at night where the wild dingos[G] call
                                                      
But[G] there's nothing so lonesome so [Am]morbid or drear
                                                     
Than to [D]stand in a [Am]bar of a pub [G]with no beer

Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come
There's a far away look on the face of the bum
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer

Then the stock-man rides up with his dry dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar a wad from his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman said sadly: 'The Pub's got no beer'

The swaggie comes in covered in dust and fly
He throws down his role wipes the sweat from his eyes
But when he is told he says,whats this I hear
Ive throd 50 flaming miles to The Pub with no beer

There's a dog on the 'randa-h for his master he waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and cringes in fear
It's no place for a dog round a pub with no beer

Old Billy the blacksmith first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen she says 'You're early my dear'
But he breaks down and tells her 'The pub's got no beer'

A Pub With No Beer Song Lyrics Only

It is lonely away from your kindred and all,
In the bushland at night when the warrigals call;
It is sad by the sea where the wild breakers boom,
Or to look on a grave and contemplate doom;
But there's nothing on earth half as[Am] lonely and drear,
As to stand in the bar of a pub without beer.

Madam with her needles sits still by the door,
The boss smokes in silence - he is joking no more;
There's a faraway look on the face of the hum,
While the barmaid glares down at the paint of her thumb.

Once it stood by the wayside, all stately and proud,
'Twas a home to the loafers - a joy to the crowd;
Now all silent the roof-tree that oftentimes rang,
When the navvies were paid and the cane-cutters sang;
Some are sleeping their last in the land far from here,
And I feel all alone in a pub without beer.

They can hang to their coupons for sugar and tea,
And the shortage of sandshoes does not worry me;
And though benzine and razors be both frozen stiff,
What is wrong with the horse and the old-fashioned ziff?
'Mid the worries of war there's but one thing I fear,
'Tis to stand in the bar of a pub without beer.

Oh, you brew of brown barley, what charm is thine?
'Neath thy spell men grow happy and cease to repine;
The cowards become brave and the weak become strong,
The dour and the grumpy burst forth into song;
If there's aught to resemble high heaven down here,
'Tis the place of joy where they ladle out beer.